The Robin Flies at Midnight
by PhysicalBeing
Summary: For years, Batman's war on Gotham's mob has corrupted his soul- until a 10 year old boy shows him a path to redemption. But the mob isn't Gotham's only foe- an unknown manipulator has brought about new threats, such as the insane genius Mad Hatter and the pyromaniac Garfield Lynns, all leading to the birth of the Dynamic Duo- Batman and Robin! (warning- early chapters a bit boring)
1. A Minute After Nine

Constructive criticism and story advice is Appreciated.

 **Chapter One: A minute after Nine**

 **October 1989**

Dick Grayson ran.

He ran down Lemmars Park Grove in Uptown Gotham.

He ran away.

Away from the corpses of his beloved parents.

 **Forty Hours Earlier**

Jack Haly directed his employees, the workmen and performers of Haly's Circus, to sett up for the show that would begin in little over a day. Nearby, Dick Grayson, Son of John and Mary Grayson, no to mention the nephew of Rick and Kayla Grayson, of the Flying Graysons, sat on a storage box holding a water bottle. It was closed, as he didn't need it- his mom simply insisted on it after their exploration of Lemmars Park, site of the Gates Center, the current home of the Haly's Circus. She claimed he would get dehydrated if he didn't and he conceded.

He couldn't be even a little upset, nor could he act confrontational (for the same reasons), as Friday night was the first night the Flying Graysons were to perform in Gotham since the 70's. He had been performing ever since he turned 10, but that had all been in Europe, and his parents would not hesitate to cut him from the act, despite Jack Haly's opposition, as he loved flaunting the spectacle of a child acrobat trained since his whole life. Ignoring the immediate future, Dick rested his head on his chin and thought about his adult life. _One day that'll be me,_ he thought, looking at Jack Haly, _I'll run this circus, and it's gonna be just like this, but better. Well have the best Internationally Traveling Circus in the world, and we'll_ still _be the greatest family anybody has ever seen._

John Grayson came by, and interrupted his son's daydreams , leading his presentation with, "Hey Dick, come check this out- you'll love it." Dick quickly got up, already excited- this was a circus, so anything that his dad would think was surprising would have to be great. John walked up the stone steps of the audience stands, and turned back- to see Dick back flipping up the steps to his position. John smiled, mockingly asking "Is it legal for a minor to show off that much?"

"I don't know- I'm a circus performer, I don't even like going underground."

"You know what I meant Dick. You know more than I did at your age."

Dick shrugged. "Something something Gypsies."

John looked shocked, but still clearly full of humor. "Hey! A young man needs to respect his ancestry, no matter the stereotypes. Don't tell me you're not proud of our family's beautiful black hair, granted only by the thickest of ancestral blood."

"I am proud, dad, but I'm just as proud of my exceptional sense of humor."

John chuckled, put his hands in the pockets of his favorite fleece jacket, and continued climbing the stairs. They reached the top, and John pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, and opened the door. Inside was the announcers' room, featuring wide glass windows with a perfect view of whatever performance was being done. In front of that, or behind, depending on perspective, was a table featuring four chairs and four microphones. Dick looked over the setup of Friday's performance, but was soon beckoned over by his father.

"That's not the surprise," he said, unlocking another door, "this is."

The door swung open to reveal a small soundmixing stage. Dick was visibly puzzled, so John took a seat as his son did the same, relaxing on swivel chairs. John reached into is right inner jacket pocket, and pulled out a cassette tape.

"Remember when we said there was a leak in one of the storage cars last night, and some equipment got wet?" John asked his son, who promptly nodded. You could practically feel the pumping adrenaline from Dick's sheer anticipation. "Well, this here is the tape holding the Flying Graysons intro music. Most of our soundtrack is intact, but the intro bit isn't. It only lasts a few seconds, so mom and I decided to let you do it."

Dick's eyes lit up. "Sweet!" he exclaimed, then upon realization, brought up a problem, "I- uh, I don't know how."

John chucked in a way that was very familiar to Dick. "Of course, Dick. Our one and only techie, Willis, will help," he said emphasizing the 'Willis' part.

Willis then came in. Haly's Circus' computer technician was thin, about 5'10", and had brown hair that was probably well-styled at some point, but now looked quite messy. 'Well, Richard John Grayson," he said, "How was dad's surprise?"

Dick simply grinned from ear to ear.

"Well, I'll leave you two to making an awesome intro theme," said John. He then closed the door, exited the announcer's room, and went back down the steps, whistling an Elton Britt song. He heard some yelling, but that didn't concern him, and continued whistling while stroking his black hair with a muscular arm, choosing to ignore what he feared was a receding hairline- it couldn't be, he was only 32. John's calm whistling was brought to a halt when he heard the yelling get louder, followed by a cry of "John!"The Grayson ran down the rest of the steps and used his acrobatic prowess to reach the point of yelling, where he met his wife, Jack Haly, and two men he had never seen before.

The man who seemed to be in charge was 5'9", and quite overweight. He had balding brown hair and a strong nose. He wore an obviously expensive black suit with a custom blue tie. Down at his wrist, John noticed his gold trimmed wristcuffs as he shook the man's hand.

"My name, is Tony Zucco" began the man, quietly and threateningly. "I have been trying to strike up a... respectable and useful deal with your Circus and its stay in Gotham."

"What do you mean, Mr. Zucco? And why on earth would it distress my wife and my employer, not to mention my best friend."

"First off, ahh..?"

"John. John Grayson."

"John. You can call me Tony. I'm not here to hurt anybody, there is no reason for nothin' but casual conversation." Zucco began to pace around the three performers. "You see, John, Haly and the Mrs. here were distressed, and perhaps for good reason."

John now crossed is arms, but wasn't visibly agitated.

"Your wife and boss-slash-friend didn't want to face the harsh truth, and I mean no disrespect, as these truths are, of course, harsh. I'm sure at least one of you have heard about Gotham's less-than stellar reputation when it comes to a peaceful populous."

John nodded.

"Well, Gotham City does indeed got a massively high crime rate, and if there is one thing I hate to see, it's visitors being hurt in my fair city. That is why I have worked hard for years to get roots in Gotham's criminal underworld, and if I simply pay them enough, they will leave everybody alone. So, I am here not just to collect a fair price for you and your audience's safety, but to do a service for the city that you have so kindly decided to perform in."

John scoffed. "Protection money? You want us to pay protection money? No wonder they were agitated, this is ridiculous. First off, we've performed worldwide, in the home of some of the world's worst politically turmoiled places, and second of all, Haly's Circus doesn't deal with criminals, even indirectly," He said, each word becoming slowly harsher and harsher.

"John here said it as well as I could have. Nobody in this circus- my circus- will pay you money. Leave, Zucco. Leave." Haly demanded.

"Come on, Garfield, we're leaving," Zucco grumbled to his assistant, who wore all grey with a red winter cap and dark sunglasses. The part of his face that was exposed was badly burned on the left side.

 **Seven Thirty PM, Friday Night, outside the Gate Center**

Bruce Wayne enjoyed the light of the moon much more than the light of paparazzi cameras. And much more than the light of gunshots.

He was waiting outside the Gate Center, named for an old Gotham architect, in line for the famous Haly's Circus Gotham premier. In his arm was Ukrainian pianist and his current girlfriend, Natalya Trusevich, who gained fame for her harsh comments of the Soviet Union after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Around him were Gotham's rich and powerful, here for VIP seating at the Haly's Circus, often called the greatest spectacle on earth. He counted mostly mob folks- Oswald Cobblepot, Anthony Zucco, Carlton Duquense, but their king, Carmine 'The Roman' Falcone, who wasn't one to be seen in public.

"So Bruce, 'ave you seen a Haly's performance before?" asked Nat in her thick accent that he knew she tried to repress.

"No, Nat, I haven't. But what I have heard is that it is incredible. Unfortunately, we may never see it if Cobblepot's men stop holding up our line."

"Hmm. I hope tzey get avrested."

"Agreed."

 **Eight Fifty-Seven PM, Haly's Circus Backstage**

"Graysons, you five are up in 3 minutes!" Boomed Jack Haly from the makeup booth.

"Got it, Jack! Tights are on!" replied Kayla Grayson, Rick's wife.

Rick's brother, John, was stretching with his wife and son, Mary and Dick. After Mary decided they were ready, the others got up, knowing that Mary was better at time management than both combined. All five Flying Graysons met up, exchanged a few words, and got water.

"Hey Dad," piped up Dick as Jack went out to introduce the headlining act of the Flying Graysons.

"Yeah son? Make it quick, we're going on in a minute."

"I saw you, mom, and Mr. Jack arguing with some guy a few minutes after Willis and I started to do the new intro music. I've been meaning to ask, but I forgot, who was he?"

John sighed, "His name was Tony Zucco. He wanted us to pay money so that Gotham criminals wouldn't attack our Circus, but he refused."

"Why? Shouldn't we stay safe?"

"Yes, but we don't deal with criminals.. If anybody demands money for your protection, never oblige, it will always be a scam. That's why we have cops all around, watching us- we told the police, and they are the ones who protect you. I'll tell more later. Come on, get in line. I'm excited to hear what music you and Willis made."

at exactly 8:59, Jack Haly, up on the center ring, finished his introductory speech with a rousing yell of; "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, CHILDREN OF ALL AGES, I PRESENT OUR STAR PERFORMERS, THE WORLD'S GREATEST ACROBATS, TRAPEZE ARTISTS WHO TRULY NEED NO NET- **THE FLYING GRRRRAYSONS!** "

"First out is Rick Grayson!" He boomed as Rick came out and began to climb the tall trapeze. "Next, His lovely wife, Kayla Grayson!" He cheerfully yelled into the mic. Kayla hopped out right on cue.

Before being called out, Mary turned to her son behind her, leaned down, and whispered, "I love the intro. Ready for the best night of your life?"

Dick grinned and turned to face Willis, who was equally satisfied.

John was called out then Mary. Dick then stepped up, his eagerly up pointing chin just barley in the wide door-frame, heart pounding,and most of all ready to meet a brand new audience, as Jack Haly began to boom:

"And now, a surprise young acrobat for you lovely audience members, the son of the very proud John and Mary Grayson, the world's only ten-year-old trapeze artist, **Dick Grrrayyson!** "

Dick's rapidly pumping blood, filled with thick adrenaline, subsided, and he heard nothing but a distant cheer from the crowd. He ran up the steel rungs on the trapeze's tower, almost monkey-like, before jumping over his family's heads and performing a Grayson signature quadruple somersault, sticking the landing effortlessly.

"No way tzat kid is only _ten,"_ muttered Nat in Bruce's ear.

A moment stretched into an hour as the Graysons' act mesmerized the audience, but merely two feet above the uppermost height of Kayla Grayson's foot during the zenith of her backflip from Rick to Mary's arms, was an cluster of incendiary bombs, custom-made by Garfield Lynns to resemble fastening screws on the trapeze.

Silently, they were ignited by from the VIP stands.

There was no boom, no bravado, nothing terrible like other violent crimes, and certainly nothing extravagant like was expected in such a circus as Haly's, but instead a sizzle as the bombs loosened other screws, and soon the entire structure was unstable.

The first fall was when Rick was swinging from the trapeze when the support gave way. Kayla was hanging to his feet, and they both headed straight towards the tower holding the platform up. Rick crushed Kayla between his high momentum and the steel tower. Before he even realized what was happening he already fell to the ground on his back.

The second was when the melted screws caused a massive shift to the bar John and Mary were on. She fell first, joining Rick and Kayla.

Mary was conscious when she hit the ground- it felt like every bone of hers was broken, but she was alive. She looked up in horror through tears of both pain and fear has she saw John precariously hanging over her and Dick clutching to the tower in abject terror. She saw her husband try to grab the bar to get a better handhold, but it only shifted the collapsing structure more, and a large steel bar fell on her. Her perception of time nearly stopped as she felt every drop of blood fly from her face as the cold steel crushed her. Her blood-soaked vision soon went black.

John new this was the end. He wanted to go on, especially when he say Dick's face drenched in tears, but the structure was too unstable.

'D-Dad, jump! Please d-d-dad, come ah-on."

"Son, son! listen I can't. Go, be safe, you can't die, not..not like this."

"Da-D-Dad, I can't! I'll help you! J-Just please! I don't.. I don't w-want you to die."

"I know son, but if you love me.. You'll climb down."

Dick just kept crying.

"Son- Son!" John began to raise his voice, not wanting a single word to be wasted. "Go. Be strong. I Love you."

Dick sat down on the platform, his head in his hands. They were drenched from a cold sweat and his tears.

"I- I love you too dad," whimpered Dick as he turned around and began down the stairs, feeling as pathetic and helpless and cowardly as a a newborn mouse.

John looked up, pray to God that his son would be alright. As he looked up, he saw the bombs light up as the tension was released from his arms. He was falling.

John Grayson died felling a crushing pain coming up his legs, then his spine, and finally as a pain engulfing his neck as his vision darkened.

He landed on his feet.


	2. The Red Acrobat

Constructive criticism is appreciated and requested.  
 _ **  
Chapter 2: The Red Acroba t**_

 **Lemmars Park, North Gotham; Nine Oh-Four PM; October 1989**

A sleek crow's feathers shimmered in the light of the moon and of Gotham City's hubbub of lights that escaped from between the fickle, gothic buildings.

It flew away at the sounds of heavy fee stomping. Those feet belonged to the newly orphaned Dick Grayson.

His footsteps were rarely anything but light and nimble, as an acrobat's should. As the crow flew away, he was in shock, and could barely comprehend the idea that his life was changed forever.

In his mindless grief, Dick didn't understand that the Grayson's would fly no more anymore than that startled crow.

His parents were just murdered by an expertly designed bomb that quietly melted the steel screws on the trapeze support stands, then knocked them out of place. This process killed his parents. His fathers last words- his last thoughts- were of, for, and because of Dick Grayson.

And for that he could hardly live with himself.

Dick kept running down the cobblestone pathway that he had so calmly walked down with his mother, alive and well, just a day ago. Then seemed so different from the reality of now. The warm bright son that caused his mother worry for his hydration, just as all mothers would, had drifted away. Dick was now faced with a cold dark moon, it's bluish rays shining down uncaring for his tears or his shock or his horror. He hit branches, stepped in mud, slipped, but kept running. He didn't know what else he could possibly do. He got cuts and scrapes, but they didn't slow him down. He was barley in a state of conscienceless, but was as awake as ever.

A statue of one of the original colonists greeted the boy, who had grown frantic at the sounds of police sirens. He ran into it, finally being shaken back into the here and now. It had torn his acrobat costume. The G on the front was gone, and, poetically enough, was replaced by a large red scrape. Dick crawled around, hyperventilation, muttering "No no no," "Mom.. Dad... we...we should've.." "Why, why God why.." "I- I don't want to- to live like this." "What did we do to deserve this." And "This isn't r-real".

He was of Romani ancestry, but was as good of a European Catholic as his mother- but now he was mourning, and was angry. His choked, sobbing, hysterical, saddening whimpers and muttering came to be yells of rage to a Father in the sky that wouldn't answer.

"I hate you! I hate it all!" "Zucco-Z-Zucco! Why why why was he allowed to do this." "God! GOD! Answer Me!.. please..."

He punched the statue, shredding his knuckle skin and jamming his wrist. Dick collapsed on the floor, scrambling around on the floor, getting more and more cuts and scrapes, until he came to a stop, a quivering pile of a bleeding, scared child.

He looked up. It started to lightly rain. Dick took it as a sign. "Yes, God? I'm- I'm sorry I yelled. Please. What will happen to me know?" These thoughts quickly weakened Dick's fragile emotional state. He curled up against a stone bench in the statues round little patio. He could barley breathe through his choked sobs.

"Please, God. I loved you. You loved me. My parents loved you. I.. I'm not the best person. But they were. I don't want to live without them. I can't." He breathed up to the cold sky. "If you ever loved me, please kill me. Just.. kill me." For what seemed like the first time in his life, Dick was praying for something he needed. Truly praying, wanting to become close as possible to God.

"I've never wanted anything more than this. They're dead, so kill me. ... kill me. Kill me. Come one, please. I just... kill me! KILL ME!" He stood up, panting like an exhausted dog. "KILL ME! KILL ME! KILL ME!"

Dick collapsed on the stone ground.

"Kill me."

 **Lemmars Park, Gate Center, Nine Ten PM**

Bruce Wayne had seen the deaths of the Grayson's firsthand from some of the best seats in the stadium. The scantily-clad waitress (probably paid by Cobblepot) gasped at the sight. He was appalled, and his girlfriend Natalya gasped and put her hand on the modest chest area of her one-piece elegant pea-green dress. Bruce got up and walked towards the glass as Natalya slowly rose behind him. They could hear everything from the speakers in their VIP booth.

Bruce had seen Dick curl up on the top of the trapeze before looking down and wincing at the sight of his dead family. He crawled away and jumped down the platform's opposite side, which had a net. Just as the ringmaster tried to coax him down, Dick jumped off 10 feet and ran.

Bruce had soon gotten up and took his suit jacket, and gave the generic black coat to Natalya. "Vait," she said.

"Bruce, vhy are zou going? Zou don't know if vhoever did ztis is still out ztere, and-"

"Look, Natalya, My parents were killed when I was his age, I know how it feels. That kid will be angry, and he will hurt people and himself."

"Let tze police handle it tzen, he's alvready going to be long gone."

"Nat, I lived with hunters in Sri Lanka for 8 months, I can find him. And... and this is a touchy subject for me. Please, just let me go."

Natalya sighed and nodded, and the 28 year-old billionaire ran down the steps, dodging people and hopping up walls to get to the ringmaster far better than a person his size should be.

In all truth, for the past 2 years he had spent as Batman, Bruce took the time to find and comfort every orphaned boy his escapades brought him into contact with. For the first two months as a vigilante in bulletproof armor and a grey shirt, it was hard. Even since he donned the cape and cowl and armored suit, Bruce was still hunted by the police, but still tried to do everything he could. He went back to reality when he reached the ring, which was now full with onlookers and police.

"Mr. Ringleader! Do you know where he went?"

"Look, son, I've got no damn time for rubberneckers, and- wait- have I seen you-"

"Yes, Mr. Ringleader. I'm Bruce Wayne. I'm sure you know about my parents, and- I just want to help."

"Look, Mr. Wayne, the police officers will answer your questions. Some of my best friends just died here here tonight."

"Yes sir. Sorry sir." Bruce jogged off.

As he went to he officers, he knew he was losing ground on Dick. Bruce liked Gotham's big, wide, tall style of architecture, but it was not helpful now.

"Officers! I'm Bruce Wayne, you probably know about my parents, and I need to help the Grayson boy. Please, tell me where he went."

"Wayne? Look pretty boy, we don't need you trying to get your company PR. We already have guys looking for the kid. Go back to your seat, we have backup to wait for."

Resisting the urge to scoff and the 'hardworking' officers, Bruce jogged backwards with a "Thank you," and went to find Dick, leaving the confused but uncaring (Stupid? Probably) GCPD officers behind.

Bruce had spent the last 6 minutes looking for Dick. He initially followed the vague instructions of GCPD to find which path he went on- without their knowledge of course, considering they weren't fans of the citizens, but they weren't particularly aware either. He then heard Dick screaming, and promptly followed those. He used crow calls to figure out were Dick ran to, which seemed fruitful, but Bruce wasn't sure how smart American crows were in comparison to Sri Lankan crows.

Now we was standing up from looking at the muddy ground, which had a small footprint of what looked like a trapeze slipper. He was on the right path. Bruce continued walking up a hill enjoying (if you could call it that in the current situation) the cool, mist-like rain. At the top of the hill, Bruce saw a patio with a statue of a colonist and some benches. When he walked up to it, he finally found Dick Grayson curled up and crying next to a stone bench. He was covered in his own blood.

"Dick- it's, it's Dick Grayson, right?" said Bruce, his voice entering a calmer tone rarely seen considering his common use of the playboy persona or brutal Batman. Dick nodded, but only seemed to curl up more. Bruce wasn't exactly prepared for this, as it was his first time to come into contact with an orphaned child while not in costume. Bruce opted to simply put his hand on the 10 year-old's back, knowing less abut how to comfort him by the second. Damn it was hard to do this without the cowl, thought Bruce, as this felt much more personal. This was a kid just like him, one who saw his parents get murdered in front of his very eyes with nothing he could do about it. Bruce kneeled over further looking into Dick's fact, right in his eyes. They made contact. Bruce saw himself

"I'm... I am Bruce Wayne." Bruce moved his hand in a small circle, clueless about how to help him but still pushing through, as both of their parents would want. "I... I'm not very good at comforting people, but.. I'm like you. Just like you. I... My parents died, got shot in an alley, when I was about your age. I want you to know that I remember being in your place. When I was 9 I saw what you saw. I just... I just want you to know, and to always remember wherever you go, that life will get better if you let it. The world is still good. You can be good. It will be okay. Can you remember that Dick?"

Dick looked up "Thank-Thank you " This seemed to break the poor boy, and he just went limp and continued sobbing, his athletic body now that of a cripple curled in a tiny ball by a cold park bench.

Bruce saw the glow of the police officer's flashlights as they came up the hill before the patio. Bruce sighed, and looked down at Dick. Bruce heaved as he grabbed Dick as gently as possible,saying "come on, we have to go sometime. Its gonna e okay. Remember what I said? Its going to be alright." Dick curled up in Bruce's arms, his tears joining the light rain and his own blood in slightly dampening the expensive suit.

"I have him," Bruce called to the officer with the flashlight.

"Wha-? Who are-" The officer squinted, "Bruce Wayne?" Bruce nodded.

The officer got on his walkie-talkie "We found him at the colonial statue in quadrant 3. Hes bleeding. Needs some first aid, over."

"Mr. Wayne," muttered Dick.

"Yes?"

"Its going t-t tuh be f-fine, r-right?"

Bruce hesitated as he peered into the boys eyes. "It was for me," He told the red-covered acrobat.

The rest of the police officers gathered closer. Bruce kept Dick in his arms despite their glares. Some seemed to distrust Bruce with the boy, which he saw as fair, considering his public persona, some were jealous of him being the one to find the boy, and one or two were fine with it. They all walked down the path around the hills of Lemmars Park and back to the Gate Center where this horrific ordeal began. There were light sloshes and splashes from the water beneath their feet, but the raining had stopped for the most part. It was Nine Fifteen when they got back to an ambulance, several police cars, what looked like unmarked police vehicles, four news vans, and many, many journalists.

The lights seemed to bother Dick, as he tried to get away, but even though he had been carried the whole time, he jest went limp, like an exhausted first time marathon runner. As they got closer to the center of the hubbub Dick's head turned further and further away from the light, as if he didn't want his eyes to see the cold, harsh, uncaring truth of the world that Bruce had known so well for the past 19 years. The light did nothing but hide the darkness, and in Gotham darkness was a parasite that outsmarted any who tried to stop it, even the Batman.

Bruce looked down at the boy. His limbs were hanging limp and his breaths were shallow. He had large red scrapes on his knees, feet, right calf, hands, left elbow, and knuckles, but these were far from major injuries. No, the cause of his pain and suffering was what he had just witnessed. Bruce knew the pain, and that the light wouldn't help do anything but emphasize the shadowy darkness, and the world wouldn't try to save you. Bruce knew about the 5 stages of grief, and while their experience was different for every person, he knew everybody got _angry_ , and goddammit Bruce was angry. He was angry that his parents' killer was never brought to justice, he was angry that all these officers wanted was a paycheck and a chance to itch their trigger finger, he was angry that these reporters only cared about the most intriguing headline, and he was the most angry at how a bunch of low-life criminal cowards ran this city and allowed all of this to happen- to allow a young acrobat with a beautiful life ahead of him to have his life ruined simply for coming to this god forsaken city.

As he was almost at the police car with the ringmaster next to it, Bruce swallowed his negative emotions, not wanting them to affect Dick's life from now at this pivotal point onward. Maybe he wouldn't be like Bruce. Maybe Dick was just a better person than he was, than he would ever be. That was all Bruce could hope.

"Um, mister ringleader, I never caught your name." Said Bruce as he walked up, slowly letting Dick down onto the ground.

"What- Oh, Dick, thank God you're alright. You look a little beat up though, can you stand? Can you walk?"

Dick nodded. The pain was mental, not physical. His body was numb.

"Oh, good my boy. Amen," He stood up, "Sorry, Mr. Wayne. I'm Jack Haly- this is, of course, my Circus."

Bruce gave a subtle nod and a small, but by no means weak, smile. "I'm glad I found him too."

Haly put his hand on Bruce's shoulder. "I-I'm, just, thanks. Thank you, Bruce Wayne."

The man's sincerity warmed Bruce's cold heart. "No need, Mr. Haly." Haly began to walk away, but Bruce grabbed his shoulder. "Mr. Haly, I- you- don't let him turn out like me. I know your aren't entirely sure what I mean, but he can't go through what I have. I don't know him, but remember to raise him right, however he has to." Haly looked confused, but nodded and turned around. "One last thing, Mr. Haly. Do you have any idea who could have done this? Has anybody unusual come by in the past few days?"

"Yes. 2 days ago, a guy named Zucco came by. But I already told the police, so I'm sure they'll call him in."

As the two men walked away from each other, Bruce sighed. He knew that the police force were all on the Mob's payroll, even Commissioner Loeb. They would never help catch and convict Zucco.

Bruce loved Alfred Pennyworth, the ma who raised him, as a father, but as well as he raised, he wasn't satisfied. No, he was never given the justice he searched for, and as he reentered the Gate Center to find Natalya, he vowed to find Tony Zucco and bring him to justice not as a police supporter, but as his true self; Batman.


	3. Aboard the Car

Give Critique and advice!

 ** _Chapter 3: Aboard the Car_**

* * *

Bruce Wayne was an excellent liar. Learning to lie was easy, going through High School. Before he even left, in Junior Year, he would lie about his interests, his opinions, his views on people, on gossip, and on his relationship with a world that, in his eyes, God very understandably hated. When he was 15, Bruce started sneaking out to spy on the police, hoping to catch his parents killer, learning soon that the police were deliberately inept. When he was 16, Bruce began to study detective work and martial arts, sometimes neglecting sleep altogether. When he was 17, he stopped putting effort into his studies, even though he was brilliant. Well before he was 18, Bruce was living in Japan, studying Bushido.

His greatest lie? That he was Bruce Wayne. He stopped lying to himself about this a long time ago. Sometime around when he was stabbed 12 times in Syria (long story). He was a monster fueled by rage, but also by justice. A creature formed from what was once a broken man. Two years ago, Bruce gave his creation a name and a symbol: The Bat.

His most recent lie, however, was unique in that how horrifically guilty he felt for it.

"It'll be okay. It was for me."

Bruce had been used to comforting victims as Batman. However, this was perhaps the first time he had to as Bruce, and certainly the first time with a child whose tragedy was so similar to his own. Why did he lie? True, Bruce's personality was fake, but the truth he saw was the same. He grew to be disgusted by people who told _him_ it would be okay all those years ago. Why was he being the same? Why would he be so.. so.. _disgusting_.

He was going to make this right

 **Mercy Street Station, North Gotham, One Thirty-Four AM; October 1989**

Batman's gloves had an annoying blood stain on them, caused by the interrogation of a local CCTV administer who was known to be corrupt, but was allowed to walk free, as the investigating officers were corrupt, and the Internal Affairs Department investigating _them_ were _also_ corrupt. With a few rooftop presences and the easy job of making a thug or two vanish into the shadows, the Caped Crusader had effortlessly driven the escaping mobsters to the public transit system. Now in the bright lights of the Mercy Street Gotham Rail Line Station, Alfred managed to identify the mobsters as being led by Monty Cora, an enforcer originally from Star City. He and his men had bought tickets to the one thirty departure, likely hoping that Batman was impatient.

No such luck.

At 1:28, Batman snuck atop the car. He watched as, after the 4 mobsters entered, another 5 guests boarded the train. All alone, except for one couple. One of them, who wore a tall hat, had a briefcase. Otherwise, nothing of note. For Batman, this was shaping out to be an easy gig. After finally pulling out of the rail line station, the car sped up. Batman held on, and, at 1:34, as soon as they went over the Finger River, Bruce set a simple charge, and disabled the power. After a screeching halt, the 40-foot-long rail car went dark, suspended motionless 300 feet above the water and 700 from the nearest maintenance stop. The Bat got to work.

He placed a sticky bomb on the front door and then went by the back, his Yellow Bat on the blueish gray chestplate standing out from the pitch black of the rest of his costume and the dark of the night.

 _pop_

"What was that?" Came from Cora, one of the three thugs, and a few passengers.

"Check it out boys. I betcha ten bucks it's the Batman." Said Cora as he cracked his massive, pale knuckles.

The thugs pulled out small machine pistols- not big enough to break through the thickest of his reinforced kevlar, but definitely enough to hurt him and do serious damage to any passengers.

"H-hey, you guys aren't supposed to bring guns on the rail li-" said a man, standing up before Cora pushed him back down.

"Kid, do you really wanna get in a 4 against one fight, with 3 armed, inside a little metal box, a few hundred feet above icy water?" Said the bald, hulking man calmly. The man sat firmly in his seat, looking angry and dejected. "Didn't think so."

Batman silently broke open a window towards the back. A grunt noticed in his peripheral vision, gasping, but feeling satisfied.

Batman too felt satisfied. But he wasn't surprised.

He shot his already aimed line gun to tie the grunt's hands to his weapon, pulled him quickly to the side of the car, and knocked him out. Batman then dropped down out of sight, and then head around to the open door in the back, reaching up to grab a thug's leg as he ran towards his unconscious cohort. He tugged strongly, pulling the thug out of the ground. The other armed one was clearly better trained than Batman expected, or at least less cowardly and superstitious than the average criminal. This setback was minor, as he managed to easily zoom onto the main railtrack, swinging around the car, and tying this second unconscious man to the top of the car.

Cora had now pulled out a small revolver, which he was pointing at a woman, whose head was in a headlock, 's head. The final goon was on alert, observing all doors to the car.

"Okay Batman," came an aggressive growl from Cora, "Disable whatever shenanigans you've got stopping this car, Or the bitch dies. After that. I wanna see you swinging away, back to the main of Gotham, and stopping some muggings. Gotcha?"

Batman walking around, looking for an opening. He'd been in tight spots before.

"Oh, and don't play dumb with me. I know you can get it out because you're a _hero,"_ said Cora, dripping with disgust. "You wouldn't leave these poor people here alone for hours after kicking our asses, would you now? But of course, that won't ha-"

Batman let out a smirk as he heard his adversary's monologue cut shot by the removal of two major bolts from the attachment mechanism, which lurched the car down, leaving it uneven. Batman swung down from the top with a _whoosh_ , sliding into the car with three batarangs in hand, which he threw at the goon, incapacitating him. Batman now stood up, mere feet from Cora.

"You were-" Began Batman.

"Oh nuh-uh." Interrupted Cora. His pale, massive form overwhelmed the small hostage. "You ain't dictating our terms of engagement. I hold a hostage. Could probably snap her neck and shoot another one by the time you get to me. So you wanna explain your big plan, or are you just gonna leave?" Cora stuck out his alabaster arm, pointing the pistol at Batman's exposed mouth.

"I'd _really_ rather not." Deadpanned Batman.

He pushed a button on his gauntlet. Another pop could be heard. The car lurched back again. Still, the off- balance Cora let off a shot, which Batman rolled to avoid, and, draping himself in his cape, pushed of the floor, then a seat, and then grabbed the larger man's forearm, ripping the gun out of his hand and breaking his elbow, then kicking the other arm, freeing the hostage. He then knocked down Cora with a single uppercut.

Batman dragged the massive gangster to the end of the car, attached a line to his leg, and dropped him out the door.

"Wait there until you feel like chatting." Said Batman cruelly. He then went up, repaired the rail attachment mechanisms, and turned the lights back on.

He then went back in to check on the civilians. After this, he grabbed Cora's pistol, and walked to the door. Cora was still conscious, fidgeting with his ankles, which were soon pulled up.

"Stop it, you goddamn Bat."

"As much as I would like it Cora, I won't have you drop into the river _yet_." He pulled out the pistol rounds, lowering his voice. "So _these_ were supposed to kill me. I''m sure You felt real good about yourself then." He dropped the bullets one by one. Whispering now, "Watch as your hopes fall into those icy waters." The mood was ruined when Batman slammed Cora's face into the floor, breaking his nose, and earning a look of agony, but no noise. "YOU'LL BE FOLLOWING THEM IF YOU DON'T TALK."

"Oh please. Th-the bat doesn't kill." Cora stuttered, but growled, hoping he'd still look brave.

Batman stood up and shrugged. "People have survived worse. I've survived worse. Besides, it'll be the water that kills you, not me."

"You're shittin me! You'd have to be crazy to think that'd I'd think that you'd think that that's an excuse."

Batman slammed Cora's head into the floor again, and, looking him straight in the eye, yelled, practically spitting, "DO I LOOK SANE TO YOU?"

He threw Cora off the car. The line, however, was stopped, snapping quick as it halted Cora's momentum.

"AAAHH JESUS BAT, YOU BROKE MY GODDAMN LEG! AGH! FUCK! IT'S DISLO-GODDAMN-CATED!" He gulped as he was painfully pulled up to the car. "O-okay, I'll talk."

'Good. Why was Zucco the most heavily guarded man at the Circus? Did he have anything to do with the accident? And why the hell were there reports of a 6-foor-five pale, muscular man wandering around the circus!"

"I don't know man. I was just there to write up a report for him and make sure the main guys weren't interrupted. I'm not part of Zucco's gang, I'm just some hired muscle, I swears it! I log everything I do. I've got it all in this notebook- oops." Cora's stone-like face smiled victoriously as the small notebook, pulled from his pocket, fell down towards the cold water. Batman had none of it, diving to grab it.

"H-hey. WHAT ABOUT MY LEG. WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?"


	4. Stone

Give Critique and Advice!

 **Stekowsky Cemetery, East End, Gotham City, Eight Forty-Two AM, October 1989**

Bruce Wayne looked at Joe Chill's grave. He had just spent the morning at his parents, and now he had to face down their killer. The one man ever whose life he had taken.

"This will never happen again. Ever."

He looked at the name engraved in stone.

Joe Chill.

"Its not okay. It's not okay..."

 **GCPD Lemmars, North Gotham, Twelve Forty-Nine PM, October 1989**

"Oh you've got to be kidding me." Scoffed Jack Haly

His furrowed brow was made less extreme by the lights reflecting off the gray walls, floor, and hanging blinds of the small, tight police office, identical to all the ones around it in this newly, and cheaply, built police station.

"Sorry sir. Kid was born in Austria. No birthright citizenship. Parents never bothered to get the kid citizenship, and in their will, inheritance is all thats useful. His legal guardian- who doesn't have a will- is also dead. State law is that, in absence of these, kid goes to a local orphanage. Same basis for Sanctuary City laws. I don't agree with it either, but I've gotta enforce it. I'm sorry, I really am. Just- say your goodbyes, okay? I don't know what else to say. I've never met a, uh, a circus man." Mournfully explained a police officer.

Jack sighed. He understood perfectly. The man was far from a genius, but he could pay attention enough to know what this mess put him in. He stepped out the office and talked to Dick.

"Hey Dick. I know you. You were listening, weren't you? The walls here aren't thick."

Dick considered lying, but after the past 24 hours, he had no interest. "Yeah. I heard. Everything. Don't wanna talk."

"I know you don't son. So just, listen. Your dad.. was one of my best friends. He has- had- been for decades. So I can't let this happen, but I have a choice. So, I either have to choose between setting everyone working for me back financially a year at least or abandoning you in Gotham without seeing you until our next break, or our next tour, depending on how successful we are, and," Jack looked at the orphan, feeling his soul pouring out, "or.. until you turn eighteen. I could give up the circus to someone else. Plenty would take the name and position of Ringleader Haly. But that would mean I have to set up a job in Gotham, a life, and.. I'm old and its hard. But we'll manage."

"So?" replied the last Grayson. "Leave me. I don't wanna set everyone back, and I don't wanna ruin your life."

"Oh, Dick, my boy. It wouldn't be ruining me. It'd just be a new challenge, alright? I've faced.. a lot of challenges. So did your Father. Your Grandfather, god rest his soul, was even worse. Heh.." Jack didn't know what to say.

"Please, just leave me. I don't- I know I can't go back to the circus after that. I can't even l-look at you in the eyes." The ten-year old curled up and cried again. Jack put his arm around him. "I- I don't wanna go back. I'll die. Like them."

"No, no, no Dick. You won't you'll be fine. Look, I'll give you time to think about it. You're mature for your age. So go, get better."

"My answer won't change. I.. I told God I wanted to die last night." Said Dick, struggling through tears. "Today, I-I-I wanna l-live. B-but not with you. Not with the cir-circus. Please, Mr. Haly. Just let me go. I... I have to do this. You.. You get it, right?"

"I get it. I respect your wishes, Dick. Just.. think it over a bit. When you decide.. well, just come see us. We all love you, son."

 **Swan Memorial Orphanage, North Gotham, Seven Twenty-Three PM; November 1989**

Swan Memorial was built in the 1960s as a state of the art, new luxury home for the most unfortunate of Gotham's children.

Poor old Swan never considered Gotham would enter an perpetual and seemingly exponential crime wave less than a decade after his orphanage was built. After nearly 20 years of that, the Orphanage was dangerously overpopulated. Disgustingly so. Not just by the orphans, though they themselves were far more than the orphanage's capacity was originally meant for, even surpassing the add-on in 1985 a year after it was built. The nurses also had to share office and work space, as there were too many fights for the originally intended nurse staff. Same went for psychologists, who were also overworked and underpaid. The orphanage's sleek, open design gave luxurious amounts of space to every orphan and worker there, however, this comfort faded into grime and filth as it was inefficiently used by the steady flow of new children. The orphanage's main selling point soon proved to be its downfall, but the state, out of options, still used it.

The saddest part? North Gotham is one of the nicer parts of town.

Dick Grayson was dropped off here after saying goodbyes to his family- not literal one of course- at Haly's Circus, had refused any comment from reporters, whose obsession with the Grayson story proved to be nothing special for the fickle mind of any journalist from the tabloid gossiper to the Channel 2 newsroom.

Now he had gotten into routine for the orphanage after a few weeks here. 7 am was wakeup. 8 am was school- sent to Gotham Lemmars, the public school. They had lunch passes from the orphanage and their own bus, but Dick never talked to anyone. 3 pm was pickup from school, or 6 pm if you had extracurriculars. The orphanage lacked the gas money for hourly trips. Dick had to wait 2 hours after he failed the tryouts for the gymnastics team. He couldn't perform. 4pm began study time, where silence was enforced until 6. 7pm was dinner, usually catering from a cheap local place, but at least they tried to make it nice. That was good enough for Dick, though there were some foods from Eastern Europe and Asia he was going to miss. 9pm was room time. 10pm was lights out.

Dick thought this over. He had known it for weeks, but now was really thinking, with no real goal to think towards, or any knowledge or wisdom he could gain. He sighed, supposing it was a cruel metaphor for his new life's monotony. What was really interesting, however, that Dick had stopped crying himself to sleep.

Monotony and tears. Monotony and tears. Monotony and- no tears. Monotony.

Instead of waiting for hours until they dragged him off to his room, Dick stood up. He was going to do _something_.

What?

Well, that was the hard part.

For starters, he went back to his room. It looked different during this time of day, at dusk. The lighting cast stark shadows on the tall room. The grayed stone walls and grimy concrete floor were illuminated in deep red, and the tall 16-paneled window was blinding to look through.

"You're early. Usually you don't get here until 9."

Dick looked to a dark brown-haired, angular-faced, thin boy on the right side of the room, draped in shadow right out of the way of the light from the window. He was reading a fantasy novel Dick had never heard of.

"Hey. I-I didn't notice you. Should'a been more observant.."

"It's fine. I haven't heard you talk outside of school since, like, two weeks ago, Richard." The boy looked up, "Should I call you Richard? I know its your name, like on the door, but you really don't seem like a Richard."

Dick sat down. The boy put the book down and looked him in the eyes. "I've been called Dick for.. ever, I guess," he laughed a tiny bit, "You're... William T., right?"

"Yep. Will Tugwell. At least, that's what my mom called me. No clue who she was. My dad died back in the 70s, before I was born. He was a doctor. But you," William pointed at Dick, "You're that circus kid. You knew your folks."

"Y-yeah. It wasn't an accident, like the news said. It was the mob. Criminals. Bad guys." Dick picked his knees up to his face, resting it on them.

"Yeah, that's the main reason kids are here. Sorry that I'm, you know, talking. Its usually not so recent. You're not mad, are you?"

"No, Will. It's fine."

"Good. Pleased to meet you, roomie." Will stuck out his hand with a respectful look on his face. Dick happily shook it.

"Thanks, uh, friend. Friend?" Will smiled and nodded, his long brown hair bobbing up and down. "Good. Thanks, Will."

"Wanna go downstairs? I don't.. really have friends, uh, either. But it'll be fun."

'How can it be fun if you don't know anybody?"

"I have acquaintances. I'm also bad with names. But I'm older than you, right? I'll be twelve in three months. So you kinda _have_ to come with me, right?"

 **Downstairs, Seven Fifty-Five PM**

Dick and Will opened the stairway door into a tall, wide hallway. On a wooden bench sat a small girl in a yellow orphanage skirt and grey t-shirt doing a crossword.

"Hey, Duela. Meet Dick. We're bored."

The small girl looked up. Her left eye was green, and her right was blue. And you're not "It's Du-eh-la. NOT Dwi-la. Haven't I known you for like a year?"

"Yeah, so? Nurse Quinzel calls you Dulea. That's not even a name," retorted Will.

"So, Will," Duela stood up. She was shorter than both of the boys, and obviously younger. "Who's this?"

"I'm Dick Grayson. I'm, uh, new here."

"Duela Dent. 9, uh, 10 now actually. I'm not new. Are you Will's new roommate? I hope you get along. Will's cool. I've got two roommates. It's crowded. Once I-"

Will stepped in between the two. "That's enough Duela."

"DU- E- LA!"

"Whatever. She does that. The talking thing, not the name thing. But you really should make her do the name thing. Dwi-la really rolls of the t-"

"Now you're doing it too!"

"Yeah, that's called a conversation! Mine made sense, yours was random bullshit!"

Duela gasped. "DOCTOR! Will said a swear word!"

"I'm twelve! I'm in _middle school_. I'm fine."

"You're not twelve yet! And sixth grade isn't even middle school in most places. It usually starts at seventh!"

"Hey, cut it out." Butted in Dick, "Why even argue? Will, if she doesn't like it, then don't say it in front of her. I, for one, don't mind."

"hm," came from the two orphans.

"C'mon, let's walk and talk, or, talk and walk," suggested Dick.

"Wh-what's the difference?" asked Will

"Talk-n-walk sounds better. Smoother."

"Ah. like Dwi-la."

Duela nudged him in the side.

Dick pushed open a door, and him, Will, and Duela stepped outside. They were on the ground floor, within the line of sight to the front gate, but they were on the side of the once-lovely marble orphanage.

"Check this out," said Dick, using his acrobatic skills to quickly hop up the side of the building, hanging from the bottom of the lunchroom balcony, smirking at the shocked faces of his new friends. He didn't stop to think, but this, hanging from the stone, was the first time he came close to smiling in almost a month.

It was a fun night, but merely a fleeting happiness.


	5. On Thanksgiving Eve

I'm trying to make Dick both wrought with survivors guilt and mourning, and still the same Dick Grayson. So, once again, give criticism and advice!

 _ **Chapter 5- The Eve of Thanksgiving**_

 **Swan Memorial Orphanage, North Gotham, Seven Oh-Nine AM; November 1989**

Swan Memorial was a stark marble pillar in the gothic jungle of the city's skyline. Ten stories tall, it was no longer anything impressive, especially considering the place hadn't been power washed in over a year. It also gave a view of the park a few blocks over, Lemmars Park, the place where the Flying Graysons fell.

A door opened. The footsteps where light, that of a fellow child.

"Dick.. I knew you'd be up here. C'mon bro, they're serving breakfast."

Dick didn't move at the sound of Will's voice.

"C'mon. Look... I know about your parents, but you've gotten so much better. If you wanna talk, talk with everyone. We're leaving for school in 40 minutes. "

"Will.. I.. I think I've been lying."

"Lying? What do you mean?"

"I've been acting happy. I'm not happy."

Will sighed, "Dick, I'm sure you aren't. But are any of us? The orphanage is a shithouse. But we have eachother. We have you, and you have us. Now come on, it's only a half day today."

Dick hopped down, brushing off his grey pajamas. "I know, Will," he sighed and began to walk towards the stairwell door. "Will. You know the charity thing tonight?"

"Yeah, a bunch of rich guys'll be here to show off how much they love the people. Why?"

"Zucco'll be there. The one who had my parents killed." Dick paused, "one day, I'm gonna kill him."

 **Gotham North Middle School, North Gotham, Eleven Ten AM**

Madison Steakbury was the prettiest girl in the sixth grade, and, in his endless ambition, Will's crush.

"I hope she doesn't eat _too_ much over Thanksgiving break," said Will wistfully, with a stereotypical hand on his chin, balanced on his elbow's fulcrum.

"She'll certainly eat better the we ever get to," murmured Dick, eating his corn slop. The greatest debates of the Orphanage Hall was if orphanage food or school food was worse (ignoring any caters involved). Dick loved to argue, when it was called for, but, after everything from this past month, his mouthiness was far from the only thing that had changed. "So I'm assuming you aren't making a move today."

"Me? Move? No-ho, I never intended to make any move. I'll get over that though. I'm fine watching, for now. Either way, she'll be picked up right after lunch. No time."

 **Five Thirty PM, Outside Swan Orphanage**

"This is Charlotte Rivers for Channel 2, Gotham's Eagle, reporting on The Thanksgiving Support an Orphanage event here at the Curt Swan Memorial Orphanage in Otisburg, North Gotham. At this one we have notable Gotham Upper Classmen and women, Linda Page, Mallory Moxon, Anthony Zucco, J.D. Davenport, and Bruce Wayne."

Dick and Will were fascinated, watching the new report both on TV and only a few stories below them, on the stained white steps of the orphanage. Dick's fascination was cut off when Rivers announced Zucco's name. Will stopped to, but didn't stop Dick from aggressively opening the hallway window and peering out.

'That's him,' thought Dick, 'Tony Zucco. Zucco.. I'm gonna kill you.'

Dick gritted his teeth, but before he could think further, he was pulled in by an orderly. "Okay there, kid. You know you aren't allowed to open windows," said the red-haired, unshaven, annoyed-looking orderly. "If you kids wanna watch, look at the TV or go downstairs."

Will sighed, "Well, get comfy. Or we could get some food. Or-"

Dick gently shoved Will. "C'mon, we're going down," he grumbled, and, without waiting for an answer, began marching downstairs.

"Wait, Dick, downstairs'll be crawling. Besides, what are you gonna do to Zucco? Double besides, there's no way you'll even be seen, and if you are, the reporters are guaranteed to pull you aside!"

"You're already following me. And even if you stop, I won't," He opened the door to the stairway, and continued his march down.

* * *

"So, Wayne, how is it here? As an orphan, of course." Asked Tony Zucco. Wayne and the short, overweight millionaire had just finished posing for some pictures.

Bruce 'hmm'd without much enthusiasm.

"Alright, alright," Zucco put is hairy hands back in his gloves, and then raised them in mock surrender, "If you don't wanna talk then I won't." He rubbed his balding head as he walked away.

"Well Bruce, I know you don't like organized crime lords- trust me, I should know- but that was.. different," said a soft feminine voice

Bruce turned. He couldn't pinpoint the voice, but he recognized the face. "Mallory. I was meaning to speak to you. I didn't know you'd be here until, well, since you've been here." Mallory was a childhood friend, and the daughter of Lew Moxon, a retired crime lord who had planned to kill the Waynes before Joe Chill beat him to the punch (or rather the shot), something Bruce stopped holding against Mallory a long time ago.

"Well, I didn't know you'd be here. Pleasant surprise, but I knew the schedule in advance, and you know-" Mallory paused, "Well, knew me well enough to know that my curiosity is gonna surpass my desire to make up. So," she put her hand on her dress' hip, "what's the deal?"

Bruce considered smiling, but opted not too. "This orphanage is home to Dick Grayson, the last on the Flying Graysons. That son of a bitch," Bruce pointed at Zucco, "is the man who killed them."

"Ah. I see now. But, of course, the whole media says it was an accident. I'm assuming you don't have proof for the police. Do you have any proof at all?" she looked at his furrowed brow, "Not to.. defend people like my dad."

Bruce sighed. "No, Mallory. I don't have proof. But what I do have is the Grayson boy's word."

"And you trust him?"

"I trust myself."

Mallory paused. She wasn't sure if this was Bruce's arrogance or if he just admitted how much he saw himself in the orphaned child. "So.."

"Repulsion, then understanding," said Bruce.

"What?" She responded

"Your emotions. To clarify, your assumption's right on spot. The boy is... like me. In a lot of ways."

"What do you mean? About all of that?"

Bruce smiled. "I'm not the same boy you knew before I.. left. Am I wrong though? About you, but feel free to speak your mind on the boy." Bruce was finding it hard to keep up is billionaire arrogance.

Mallory sighed. "Yes, you're right. So. The Grayson boy. Why do you feel like this?"

Bruce decided to drop his persona. "Because I lied to him. I told him everything would be alright. What's that supposed to mean? Every damn thing? Alright!?"

Mallory was surprised. "Yeah, that's what you're supposed to say!"

"Well, _you've_ never lost someone. Not like that. Not your.." Bruce knew Mallory's family- her father- was a touchy subject. "Lew Moxon said that to me. I'm sure Zucco would too."

Mallory looked hurt. _Good_ , Bruce thought, _look what lies like that did to me. To this damn city. To her..._

"So.." she asked, "What are you gonna do?"

"About Dick?" It was here where Bruce committed to the his plan, "I'm gonna adopt him."


	6. The Hollow Manor

Thanks for the 300 views! I'm working harder, and, now that the story's picking up, liking writing even more.  
Still, give reviews, critique, and advice! I love reading your comments.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 6: A Hollow Manor**_

 **Wayne Manor, Kane County, Eight Ninteen AM; December 1989**

Nine days ago, Dick Grayson turned 11. Two days ago, he attended his last day of school. Yesterday, Bruce Wayne- _Bruce Wayne_ \- officially adopted him.

And today, Dick confirmed it wasn't a dream.

He had been used to getting up at a strict time. Scheduling was very important at both the circus and at the orphanage, but it seems that the manor staff was happy to let him sleep in. Dick, however, had no interest in sleeping. He climbed out of bed, but before he acted on his desire to explore, he had to soak in his new lodgings. His room was a rectangle, 24 by 30 feet, but his whole space was a square, as his bathroom and closet were both 10 feet long and 6 feet wide. On the wall of his closet was his bed, which itself was wider than any bed he'd ever been in. He got out of bed to his right, looking at his messy face in the mirror. His hair was long and his eyes looked annoyed. He walked over to the door, but before opening it, he looked at the design. It wasn't a simple rectangle cutting. It was a hundred year-old mural of a flower garden, with lilies, daisies, and roses in a circle of bushes surrounded by a vined fence. He paused to look at it.

"Huh," said Dick. It was nice, but rather pretentious, in his eyes. After the awe wore off in a few seconds, he turned around. On the far side of the room, to his right, there was a large paneled windows, not dissimilar to the ones at the orphanage, but with the window stretching to the floor, and with billowing white drapes with a golden calico pattern. Dick wouldn't be surprised if it was real gold weaved in somehow. He walked around the room. The carpet was soft and smooth, the walls adorned with a mirror, a bookshelf, and dressers. All with an intricate, beautiful design. Dick didn't like that at all. And, although he had only spoken to him once, this house of Bruce Wayne's told Dick enough to know that he didn't like him either.

He opened the door, and stepped out onto the wood of the indoor hallway. It was wide and tall, bigger than the train cars he lived in for most of his life in length and, moreso, width. He walked down the hallway passed a few doors, than turned onto the indoor balcony, overlooking the large living room, which had a fireplace and a kitchenette and eating room. This was the casual wing of Wayne Manor, and it looked like something Dick would fantasize about, but now he certainly didn't enjoy looking over this. He walked over to the window, which showed him the front of the manor. Dick loved the snow, and this whole situation was objectively better than the orphanage, but he felt nothing for contempt for this house and its owner. He gritted his teeth at the frozen fountain.

He silently walked over to the far side of the wide space, where the stairs were. He walked down, but stopped upon seeing that, at a table, in a spot under the balcony, sat Bruce Wayne.

"Ah, Dick. May I call you Dick? I hear you prefer it to Richard," said Bruce. Dick suspected he knew he was there ever since he stepped out of the room. Standing up, he wobbled, grabbing his coffee cup, chugging the rest.

 _Hungover,_ thought Dick, _of course he would be. Probably soaked up the brownie points, adopting_ me _, and then drank the strongest thing in his collection all night_.

Dick knew several alcoholics. At the circus, people were either in a loving family, or down on their luck lost souls. The latter often helped out during performances, but spent the rest of the night drinking. Some were violent, but most were just _there,_ sitting alone in a corner. Bruce was neither- from what Dick could see. Yes, Bruce was in the corner, alone, trying to block his hangover with caffeine (which Dick knew didn't work, but not by experience of course), but he got up and walked toward him. He would get there soon- the manor was large, but not that large. Dick wasn't looking forward to whenever Bruce got to him.

"Dick," said Bruce softly, "How are you holding up? I hope you slept well."

"I-I," Dick didn't expect this caring from the billionaire, "I slept well."

Bruce sighed, "Are you sure?"

Dick paused. He knew he was lying, but he wasn't expecting Bruce to notice.

"Dick," Bruce got on his knee to look at him at eye level., "If you need anything, I'm here. I don't think I can provide everything for you. Not as your parents could. So if you're uncomfortable, I understand. I'm fine with it. You've got nothing to fear. Nothing to hide," he stood up, "I believe you'll do great. Alfred's got more experience at this than I do," he laughed slightly, "so you can talk to him too. Now, I'm sorry to say I have work. I really do hope you have a nice day, despite all that's happened. I can tell you're taking it better than.. I did," he patted Dick on the shoulder and walked away.

 _Well,_ thought Dick, _maybe he isn't drunk at all._

* * *

 **Bruce Wayne's Lamborghini Diablo, Eight Thirty-Five AM**

Bruce readjusted his Jacket and tie in the mirror of his expensive car at a stoplight. He was waiting for Alfred's call after he had finished feeding Dick.

 _brrrinng brriinng_ Came the sound of Alfred's specialized ringtone on his retrofitted car radio. He pressed a button to answer as the light turned green.

"Hey Al, how is it?" Bruce said with a light tone of voice, very different from the dark, angry tone of Batman's. Due to his closeness to Bruce, Alfred would hear both interchangeably, regardless of if he had the mask or not.

"He's not happy, Master Bruce. The boy doesn't trust your intentions for his adoption. You really should tell him. Not everything, of course, but enough to make him understand," Alfred, as always, sounded as the same sincere old English gentleman.

"No Alfred. I.. I just can't. The boy... he's smart. Brilliant even. Not just in the academic terms, but there is that, of course. But.." Bruce spaced out, watching the cars around him on the highway, "He's right. About me. I'm not just doing this for press, of course, but he is right about me being selfish. He's the first person I felt guilt for on such a level since my parents.. and since Chill. I adopted him because I wanted to know why. Not to help him. To help myself."

"Bruce. You've been a _hero_. After all that you've done for people, is it not right for you to save yourself? And you also have a chance to make his life better too. You can't be a hero who hates himself."

Alfred was always good with speeches. Bruce shook his head, "Maybe you're right. Anyways Alfred, do you have anything on this pyro who's torching mob warehouses and homes?"

Alfred sighed, but allowed the change of subject, "Not particularly. You're hypothesis that it was on behalf of Carmine Falcone seems to be false, due to the fact that the most recent arson case was against the Peregrine Club, one of the most profitable businesses Falcone is suspected of owning."

"Well that makes sense," said Bruce, using his detective skills, "The others were smaller targets for other mobs, who had begun to suspect Falcone was behind this. The arson would simply have to be on a small Falcone warehouse or two to throw them off, not such a gold mine for Falcone. I think this pyro is a hitman of Falcone's who was wronged in some way. Who owns the Peregrine Club?"

"A man by the name of Ronald Edwards, sir. 6 feet exactly, one hundred-ninety-five pounds, fifty-four years old. Bills himself as a majordomo. He was unharmed in the fire."

"Thanks Al, I'll talk to him tonight."

"Are you sure, Master Bruce? You should spend some time with," Alfred smacked his lips judgmentally, "Well, your _son,_ sir."

Bruce took little notice to his word usage. "He'll be fine. If I'm right about the arson- and I know I am- then tonight is a big night in the investigation."

"Are you sure, sir? You seem to be hiding again. You don't want the boy to think you're a coward, either."

Bruce swerved in his car, pushing the gas down as his body tensed up, "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Master Bruce.. you said you saw so much of yourself in that boy. Do you remember your first night alone in the Manor?"

Bruce sighed, and loosened up, "How could I forget?" he said guiltily, "It felt empty, just like I did. Despite everything inside- it was hollow."


	7. A Smile and a Scowl

I'm gonna ask for some response here: How long should I wait for Dick to become Robin? I'm hoping for it to come within the next few chapters, as this story still has a villain plot to stop, but I'm wondering if longer would work, as I feel like I stunted myself by making the origin story so gradual. Thanks for 400 views, and, as always, give Advice!

 _ **Chapter 7: A Smile and a Scowl**_

When Bruce Wayne was ten, he would sit behind a counter, or a table, or a chair, or an armoire, eyes wide, palms damp, heart pumping, and soul raging. He did this whenever Jarvis Pennyworth shooed him out of the room for a phone call after the death of the Waynes. Bruce would listen, but whenever it was anything important, Bruce's inner concoction of rage, fear, panic, fury, and hopelessness clouded his mind, blocking sensory feeling. The trauma of his parent's death was relived whenever he tried to learn more about it.

Bruce Wayne hated that.

Perhaps the difference was because of how much less monotonous his life had been after his parent's death. Maybe he learned something at the circus, or at the police station, or at the orphanage, or at Wayne Manor, in the day he spent there. Perhaps it was because he was older, even if only by a few months. Perhaps it was something inherent to his personality.

Either way, Dick Grayson wasn't hateful. Not anymore. He was angry, scared, and vengeful, but most of all, he was curious.

 **Manor Library, Wayne Estate, Kane County, Nine AM; December 1989**

Alfred simply thought that Dick was trying to get his mind off of things by going to the computer after spending a half an hour sitting motionlessly at the table, without bothering to eat the pristine omlette the butler cooked for him. Dick didn't know this, simply thinking he didn't care, but for the boy, that was fine.

Dick clicked and clacked on the new, white, blocky computer. It contained a catalog of all the library's records.

 _Excellent,_ thought Dick. _Time to search. Or, research._ He paused and furrowed his brow, looking up. _Yeah_. He was so intrigued by this secret business of Bruce's that his grief had simply slipped away.

'Carmine Falcone' was the first thing he searched. Wayne's personal archive featured a multitude of newspapers and a family tree. Falcone was a mob boss- one suspected of having practically the whole police department bought and paid for.

 _So Falcone is being investigated. Why would Bruce care though? Maybe he's trying to help me... No, he's probably trying to overthrow Falcone. His dad was around before he came to power, probably controlled the mob himself. Would Bruce really do that? He'd have to be..._

Something in Dick clicked. Bruce Wayne's parent's killer was never caught. He asked about Zucco after the fall of the Graysons. And now here-

Dick spun around in the chair, filled with the fire of vengeful joy, and started typing on the keyboard, searching for the name _Zucco_.

Mob boss. Briber. Crook. Killer. Dick felt justified in his hatred of this fat, bald man. He cracked a smile- the biggest smile he had since his parents died, and the cruelest he had ever. He rolled back, but was stopped by something behind him- the body of a tall-standing man. Dick hopped in fear, and, from bellow his long, thin nose, looked at eyes which managed to be both judging and sympathetic, the eyes of Alfred Pennyworth.

"Quite enough time on electronics, isn't it, _Master Richard_ ," said Alfred, crossing his arms over his white tuxedo shirt and suspenders and tapping his foot, "Now now, let's do something more productive, shall we?," he bent over to turn off the computer.

"What are you hiding?" asked Dick assertively. "I heard you talking to Bruce. What are you doing?"

"The Wayne Foundation is deeply involved in preventing and prohibiting corruption in Gotham City, Master Bruce is simply working to support legitimate business in his city," Alfred droned.

"That's a- a lie! A rehearsed lie, even worse!" Dick pointed his finger at the man.

"I'm not sure what you mean. What have I said that is a lie?" While he was correct, Alfred wanted him to go on. Perhaps even keeping it a secret from himself, but he may have even _wanted_ Dick to find out Bruce was Batman.

"Well, he's a liar too. And I have proof," Dick said, his emotions conflicted and stretched, but primarily controlled by anger.

"Oh really?" Both the words and their tone piqued Alfred's interest.

"Yeah. At he said I could talk to you. That you'd help," Dick said, successfully repressing how much he wanted to cry.

"Master Richard, I'm sure he also mentioned that I'd _help_ , and, even if you don't think so, I have only the best for you in mind."

"The best for me? Or the best I can be for _you_." Dick said spitefully.

Alfred looked hurt. "The best for you of course. I'm being sincere," his face loosened, and he suddenly looked older, "I could give you a tour, I suppose. If you're living in Wayne Manor, you should learn about it. It's a fascinating home," Dick sat down and sighed. "Please, Richard?"

"Fine," grumbled the boy, "and Alfred," Dick stood up as the butler put his hands behind his back, "Just call me Dick."

"Very well," Alfred walked off, as Dick followed, "The first Wayne to live in the Americas was Harold Wayne, born in 1589, and coming to America in 1619, heralding- hah- from Waynemoor Castle in Northern England, an estate which has since collapsed." Dick looked on with an indiscernable level of interest. "After his father helped establish a profitable cross-Atlantic business, his son, Nathaniel, hunted witches-"

"WITCHES?" Asked Dick.

"Yes, supposedly," Alfred stepped into the entryway, which was bigger than most bedrooms, "Some of his belongings are still here, in the foyer cabinet. They're right here."

"Can I hold them?"

"Well, guests aren't supposed to touch-"

Dick's excited pose reverted to his basic standing, him digging his socks into the rough calico carpet.

Alfred turned around on the wood floor, "But you aren't a guest Master Richard, are you?"

Dick smiled, a wide smile, spanning what seemed like his whole face, gliding over his skin. It felt like the widest he had smiled in years.

After years with Bruce, spending this time with Dick made Alfred smile too.

* * *

 **What Remains of the Peregrine Club, Cherry Hill, North Gotham, Six-Thirty PM**

"Alfred."

"Alfred."

"Alfred."

This was humiliating.

The Batman usually wouldn't go out so early, but in December, the sun had been down for an hour already. Bruce Wayne would love to have a 9 to 5 job, but he still managed to be out of the office a bit after 6. He had hoped Alfred would be picking up whenever he was ready, but he wasn't connecting now. Batman sighed. He shouldn't be dependent on Alfred or the Batcomputer anyways. He dropped from the non-functioning neon sign onto a scorched side entrance to the club, whose doorway had totally collapsed. In the doorway, his back to the alley, stood man with dark reddish-brown hair, with noticeable gray on the temples.

"Jim. What do you know about the fire?" Batman said to Lieutenant Gordon.

"Batman- damn you, you scared me. Again." Gordon stepped towards him, watching his steps, although it was all just scorched dust.

"Congratulations on your promotion. Now, this fire was set at 7 AM, right before sunrise, today. I've surveyed the perimeter, and identified three points of entry for a flamethrower, judging by the distance of the initial scorching. I'm sure you know that all cameras in the area were cut, however, the Sundollar coffee shop's windows lit up with the firelight, giving images of the perpetrator. Now," Batman's mouth adjusted, almost like a sort of smile, "match me."

Gordon sighed, "Thanks, first of all. Glad to have Flass off our asses. Now," he rubbed his nose bridge with his thumb and forefinger, "Well, we didn't get quite that far. We do have some witnesses, but the ones who aren't at the ER aren't talking. I'm sure that you could help, but the boys," Jim looked to the other side of the club, where most of the officers where, "Well, they mostly aren't fans of you- of _us,_ " he said, knowing the possible awkward connotation. "So we won't get in trouble, not anymore, but I'm not anymore popular, and it won't make your job any easier. They tend to avoid me."

"Did they anticipate me coming?"

"Said they didn't want to 'take chances' or something."

"And you didn't pick up on that?"

"What? I know you don't usually come out before seven, but there are still good cops.."

Batman sighed. "ARNOLD. Come. Out."

Arnold Flass, a man with blond layered hair coming past his ears and a goatee on his square jaw, came out from a bathroom, covered in soot as he ascended to his full height of 6'6".

"Shouldn't have had the two meter tall guy spy on the L-t," said Batman.

"Is that a joke? Is this asshole joking now?" Flass grumbled. Batman simply walked away. "Hey now, Bat, you don't run away from me. Get back here, dammit!"

Batman, draped in his cape, turned his head. "It was just a theory. Thanks for confirming. Now, let's see what we have over there." He grappled onto the burnt, twisted metal skeleton of the building, leaving the very smug Gordon and shocked Flass.

Going through the remains of the private office and bar were three men, two in black, one in white. The ones in black wore tight turtlenecks and black formal pants. The one in white was wearing a white suit which look expensive, but with his type you could never know, with a black unbuttoned shirt underneath. He had a bald head and a gray mustache, and was clearly the leader. Between the three of them, who were in a circle surrounded by police officers, was a black duffel bag.

Batman couldn't make out what they were saying, as he wasn't able to get close enough fast enough without alerting them or falling on an unstable support beam. By the time he got in sound range, the boss, who he could now see was Ronald Edwards, the owner- former owner- of the Peregrine Club, picked up the duffel and walked up the stairs to his personal office, accompanied by one of the guards. Alone, now was time to strike.

Batman hopped over unnoticed, and, equally silently, hopped down to the stair. With a single swipe of his arm, the goon was out. Hearing the _thud_ from his head colliding with the semi-blackened wall. He quickly unzipped the bag, pulling out a large ax, pointing it at the Batman.

"L-look, Bat, I brought this to break down the office door," said Edwards in a deep, throaty voice, "I don't wanna hurt you."

"Good. Then talk," Batman didn't move, "You work for Falcone. What do you know about the fire."

"I don't work _for_ Falcone, I work _with_ him. Sometimes. And as I told the cops, I don't know who set it and why. I know folks are sayin' that Falcone did the fires, and now they stopped after this one. I still don't know."

"Did anyone involved in the mob do anything suspicious recently?" Batman stepped closer.

"No. Why?"

"Anything from Zucco's men? Or anything about betrayal in any mob?"

"What? Actually, you might be in luck. Now that you mention it, there's talk of a guy who Zucco hired betraying him. But if I told everyone all the gossip I've heard recently we'd be here for weeks. Besides, Zucco's in good with the Falcones. If you want a suspect, as I said, look at Thorne-"

"Do you know a name, Edwards?" Batman stepped closer to the man, up in his face now, scowling.

"Ah I dunno..." Edwards shrugged, but looked thoughtfully, "Name's Garfield, I think. Yeah, Garfield Lynns."


	8. Wishes Old and New

500 views! A milestone, and, based on how fast it's going up, I reckon that we'll hit 1000 sooner rather than later.

Same requests apply: critique and advice!

 ** _Chapter 8: Wishes Old and New_**

 **Cherry Hill, North Gotham, Six Forty-Nine PM; December 1989**

Batman flipped through the clean survivors of the Peregrine Club's guest records. He sighed. This would be a _lot_ easier with Alfred helping. He'd have to find a way to get a portable computer.

He looked up from the papers, looking down onto the street. Ronald Edwards was talking to a cop. They shook hands as he got into the back of a police car, which went off with a partner car.. Batman didn't trust Edward or the police. He had learned to be observant a long time ago. Judging by the three-number callsign, the car should have been turning left at the next light. He watched as the car drove through the empty black street, and then went right through the light.

Batman sighed. As he swung from the old water towers atop apartment buildings, he thought about how much he hated being right sometimes.

The cars were driving slowly, letting Batman catch up to them eventually. As they stopped at a light before a busy four-way intersection, Batman saw the officer in the passenger seat lower the fiberglass screen to the backseat and draw a gun on Edwards. Batman was surprised, but well-trained enough to act. He hopped down, opening his cape as if to glide, but also pulled his down to drop him onto the car. Before the officers noticed, Batman fired his grapple gun at the officer's hand, with the hook stabbing the glass and wrapping around the gun. Before he could react, Batman slammed onto the hood, bending the whole thing inwards. The jostled officer was now ripe for the beating. Batman pulled the line back and smashed open the already broken windshield. His hand was sprained, at least and his arm cut up and dislocated. The screaming man let off a shot, but Batman didn't even have to move to dodge. He then pulled the cop the rest of the way out of the car and knocked him out against the hood, effortlessly tossing a batarang at the other cop with his other hand. The injured cop burst out of the door, but before Batman could do anything, he got into the back of the other car. They sped off, leaving Batman with Edwards, whom he pulled to the apartment building's rough grey stone steps.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. If you told me, hell, even five mintues ago I'd owe you my life I'd've laughed my ass off."

"You're welcome."

"Yeah. Yeah, thank you." He stood up, brushing off his pants, pulling out a small audio recorder, "You know, I never trusted the cops. I have an audio tape."

"Good. Let's get you to Gordon." He offered an arm.

"No, thanks, Batman, I'm not hurt. But these folks are rubberneckin'. Let's speed up."

 **Wayne Manor Grounds, Six Fifty-Four PM**

Alfred had to get on the phone with Bruce, so he watched Dick from afar as he explored the old Wayne Family Cemetery, under the orange-yellow light. antique oil lamp, which Alfred allowed the fascinated Dick to light himself. It was cold, so cold that the breath in front of Dick's face was nearly blinding. Both of them could see the shimmering lights escaping from the dark, domineering buildings of the Gotham skyline now, as the Cemetery was a quarter mile from the house. Above it, like a dagger piercing into the smoky clouds, was a round symbol in the sky. A bat was painted into the clouds.

Alfred gasped. This was reminiscent of the time Bruce strung Sal Maroni up on a skylight in the shape of a bat. He turned away and opened his phone. "Master Bruce, what the hell is that?"

"Alfred. The mob knows I'm onto them. The light is from the ruins of Falcone's old HQ. It's a challenge."

"What the hell did you do?"

"I interrogated Ronald Edwards at what was his club, and then beat up a police officer."

"What!? Was that really wise?"

"Yes. He tried to kill Edwards. Got away too."

"My lord, Master Bruce. Has anything positive come of this.

"Yes. I have a name. Garfield Lynns, a man in Zucco's mob who betrayed him. I also have names of people he frequented the club with, and admissions of guilt from corrupt GCPD officers. IA'll have a field day. Meanwhile, it looks like the mob fires and the boy are connected after all."

"Yes, so you were correct in adopting him, which, as time goes on, seems like you're trying to make seem more and more utilitarian." Alfred's foot started tapping, crunching down the soft snow.

"What are you saying Alfred? If its about my.. emotional state.. I'll talk about it at the cave. Now, get to researching Lynns."

"The boy and I are outside, sir. I'm sorry to say I won't do that. His childhood is more important than your crusade. I hope you understand."

Batman sighed. A growley sigh. "Fine. I'll go after the people at the light. You just... keep doing what you're doing."

"Yes, sir."

"And Alfred," Bruce said before hanging up. "I know you wish the best for him. Just like you did with me. I still see myself in him." He then hung up without waiting for a response.

Alfred sighed. Yes, his decade- old wish was still alive with this boy. This one, however, seemed so much more hopeful. Alfred couldn't see how a boy, after such a tragedy, could enjoy himself in a cemetery. Still, the boy had fun in the garden of snow-coated graves, dusting off the stones and reading all the names he had become so enamored with earlier that day. The only spot where he was not allowed was the crypts, which where the property holders of Wayne manor where- the head of the family. He could see some names. Kenneth. Laura. Patrick. The closest of the marble crypts had both names visible- Thomas and Martha Wayne, as inscribed in stone cut into a banner, held by two cherubim.

Another time- months ago, when he lived another life- Dick would have hopped around on the gravestones, climbing obelisks, and balancing on crosses. But now he had a sense of duty. He looked into the sky, admiring the shimmering bat. He remembered what he heard in the GCPD the day after he became an orphan. That the Batman would fight mobsters and go after corrupt cops. Considering how many of the officers at the Lemmars GCPD were assholes, at the time Dick was happy there were people watching them.

That seemed shallow now. For Dick, who knew nothing but the circus and the orphanage, that city represented evil and rot. And, above it all, sat the Bat in a white shadow. Batman fought the people who tore Dick's life apart. Who tore his family apart. From the Manor, where he kept himself entertained for a short while, he could't see the city, and for this, he was glad. He couldn't have handled it there. But now, in the dead of night, It filled him.

Dick had felt alone. Empty. Filling with hate over a period of months, he hadn't felt himself slipping away. He had forgotten his dreams of happiness. The wishes of his family would have been abandoned to Dick's fickle transformation from lightness to hatred. He would have never killed Tony Zucco, only himself.

But there, in the blistering cold, with dirty boots and ill-fitting winter clothes, standing atop the flat gravestone of a centuries-dead man, he saw, miles away, the white bat. The wishing bat, fulfilling Dick's wish of a purpose. Of a place to go. It felt with him. In his face. In his soul. Glowing brighter than any street lamp or skyscraper. Bright as the moon. Bright as the sun.

Dick felt the city stop. It's bustling, violent speed seemed to slow. He wasn't sure if his awe made his senses neglectful or if the whole city was sharing in it, stopping to sit in the ethereal bat in the heavens. The great light, meant as a threat and a call for the Bat was seen as just that, except it wasn't Batman that it was threatening, but the mob, the criminal rot that was killing the city, the disease that no one dared attack. Except the Batman. The signal in the sky showed the hope of the city. And, for Dick, the hope of his life, which had been snowballing downhill, now emerged, concentrated and ready.

Dick Grayson had been angry and afraid for a long time, and he had been one with the rest of Gotham in this for just as long, but now, feeling victory in the middle of the darkness, he _felt_ at home. In this city devoid of hope, he felt a sense of belonging at the climax of his hope. Like the White Butterfly in Hugo's _Les Miserables_ , the Bat rewnewed the last Grayson. His fruitless 'need' for revenge was replaced with a sense of justice, and, at that moment, blanketed in the piercing brightness of the symbol, Dick new what he wanted. He reached forward.

Dick saw the bat pour through his fingers, and stepped closer. He started walking. Hopping over graves, he began to run. He ran, looking over the water to the docks where the symbol sat. The waters disappeared behind the stone wall of the cemetery, then the docks, then the spotlight. When he hit the fence, Dick only saw the reflection of the light on the clouds. He clambered up the wall, ignoring the rough bricks and vines. He threw his leg over the grey stone top of the wall, and slowly balanced himself on top, standing up straight, fully exposed to the symbol's light. His exposed skin, his face and hands, shone white. His clenched fists were even paler. The brightest part of him was his eyes. They shone with reflection, and with inspiration.

He didn't anticipate the gunshot.


	9. Multiple Agents

_**Chapter 9: Multiple Agents**_

 **Wayne Estate, Kane County, Seven PM, December 1989**

Dick Grayson fell off the tall ledge of the cemetery wall, tumbling down on the outside. In a split second, the tall tips of the mausoleums and obelisks disappearing beyond the travertine masonry. His face fell into the snow, his nose throbbing from it's impact on the frozen earth. He pushed up off of the shallow snow, his gloved hand taking off his jacket's hood. What had happened? What was that bang?

"Master Richard! Master Richard!" Alfred came running, his coat was unbuttoned and flapping in the wind as his long legs went through the snow. "Master Richard, hurry, and stay down!"

"Wha- Mr. Alfred, how can I- agh- stay down and hurry," He stood up, wobbling unsteadily.

"No. No! Master Richard, that was a gunshot! Judging by the noise, it's well inside the grounds. _That_ means that whoever shot it is probably trying to shoot again!"

"Again? What are they trying to shoot?"

"Well, young sir," Alfred took Dick's hand and pulled him behind the wall, "God willing it's just some hooligans trying to look cool or scare us maybe not even a real gun," Alfred breathed uncertainly, looking at the bullet impact on a limestone obelisk. Dick didn't know, but he was calculating the bullet trajectory based on the hole and the location of the gunshot noise's origin.

"But? There's a but, right Alfred?" Dick pulled the butler's arm, but his leather gloves held the boy's left arm in place.

"Shh! Get closer." Alfred sounded more certain. "Yes, of course there's a but. Your parents were killed by the mob. You _met_ that- that bastard Tony Zucco. Trust me, young sir, they aren't unwilling to send a hitman after a child."

"So- they're trying to kill me?" said Dick.

Alfred was uncertain what to think of the expression on his face. The fire in his eyes frightened him a little. "Well.. yes, sir. They are. And to them, you're clearly important, for them to send a hitman after you at a location as secure as Wayne Manor. So let's stay careful, for your sake."

"Got it, Alfred. But.. what are we gonna do?"

"Yes, yes, hurry. The tombs are safe. Underground. Come!"

"Why is there so much empty space if there are tombs?" Dick looked around inquisitively.

"Why are you asking that at a time like this? Different members are assigned different graves. It's complicated," He pulled the boy through a moss-covered stone path between rows of graves, all clearly in groups of immediate families of the hundreds of Waynes and Wayne cousins, before they both settled down behind the crypt of Martha and Thomas Wayne. He pushed his back against the cold marble.

"Well, Alfred," Dick was panting, "What is it?"

"How are you so calm? I don't reckon that I was like this during my military service," He pushed Dick, running over to a marble tree statue in the center, opening the iron gate, and flinging the two inside.

"You know, Alfred, I'm sure he couldn't shoot us from there."

"I know- I know." He was panting. "My lord," he sat down, his long, thin legs stretching out, his gloved hand on his sweating forehead, "I am getting old." He took out a small brick-like plastic thing- a cell phone. He opened it, dialing a number. "I hope we have service."

"And if we don't?"

"Well- there's really nothing stopping him from getting in here."

Dick started to breathe heavily. "I need to sit down.." he said, to which Alfred nodded. He pushed against the rough rock wall with his back and slid down. The young boy's vision blurred, and his head felt light. All he heard were the slight snaps of trees in the frigid wind. Or were they the footsteps of the assassin against the dead twigs of the graveyard. How close was he? Did Alfred hear? How could he run off in this state? He hadn't felt like this since the death of his parents.

"Master Richard- Master Richard- Dick!"

"Wha- I-"

"We're safe- for now! Master Bruce has called the police. Help's on the way, now we must go!" Alfred, surprisingly strong for his thin size, picked up Dick, and started walking down the crypt, walls lined with caskets.

"Mr. Pennyworth-" Alfred didn't correct him this time, seeing how delirious the boy was, "wh-why didn't _you_ just call the police? Bruce can't help.." He muttered something unclear, but it was said with enough vitriol for Alfred to feel truly hurt. This boy didn't know Bruce at all.

"You're smart. But... we can't worry about that now. Let's get going."

They ran, hard soles tapping on the cobblestone floor until they came to the end of the crypts. Alfred laid Dick down onto an old altar. The boy looked around, confused. "What's here? We're trapped! You've trapped us!"

"Shhh!" Be quiet!" Alfred went over to the far wall, decorated in candles which had been burnt to stubs decades ago. He flipped open a panel and tapped a code into a much newer electronic panel, still covered in dust, but clearly put there recently. After the greenish brown screen said 'open', Alfred felt around the black-covered wall before feeling a loose brick, pulling it out and grabbing a latch, which revealed the entire wall to be a door. A few feet into the new passage way, Alfred felt another panel, which he used to turn the lights on not just in the newly revealed cave, but also in their room of the crypt.

"See, Master Richard," he chuckled at Dick, walking around the large door to face him on the altar, "You had nothing to -"

Dick wasn't there.

"Master Richard? Dick? Dick, where are you? This isn't funny!" His voice raised, but he was afraid to yell. "Oh, dammit," he muttered, beginning to run up the sloped stairs, "You better not be doing what I think you're doing!"

* * *

Dick was running through the pitch black of the crypt tunnel, but slowed when he heard more footsteps. It took him a while, but he soon realized that the assassin and Alfred were fast approaching. He had to act fast. As he continued up, stepping with less and less weight with every stone he pushed his small body up on. He began to press his body against the wall when he saw a faint light coming from the spiral staircase going up, indicating a flashlight, be one belonging to the assassin or Bruce- or, if he was lucky, the Batman. Dick, however, didn't want to take chances.

The man came down. As he feared, it was a man with a gun- a machine pistol- meaning that this was indeed the assassin. Dick hid behind a wall, but the man was approaching. Soon, although the man couldn't see him, Dick was barely a foot from the barrel of the gun, albeit on the side, where the flashlight couldn't shine.

Silently, Dick picked up a rock, and, before the assassin could move, ran up and smashed the flashlight, flying it across the room.

Before letting his eyes adjust, the assassin began to fire. The bullets sliced through and broke a multitude of graves, filling the room with dust as Dick hopped away, barely being grazed by any bullets or shrapnel.

Dick ran under the man, picked up another rock, and pushed into his legs with all he could muster. The man slipped, but steadied himself. Dick quickly, operating on finely tuned instinct, threw the rock at the man's nose, knocking him down. Dick flew into fury.

"YOU!" He picked up the heavy metal flashlight, looking at the man head on. He had yellow-orange hair, with an angular face, wearing green sniper's goggles. His nose, of course, was bent and bleeding badly. "You helped the man who killed my parents!" Dick smacked the side of his face, bruising his cheekbone. "Why come after me now!"

The man started pushing off. "You know, no witnesses!" He stood up unsteadily, reaching for his pistol.

Dick, still furious. Lobbed another stone at his hand. He grabbed two more such rocks, flinging them at his face again. He collapsed again, and before he could get up, was rushed by a 50 year-old man in a bowtie and winter coat.

He screamed, but, due to his various rock induced head injuries, and, unbeknownst to Dick, Alfred's intense military training, soon was down for the count.

"Master Richard! Have you no- no self-preservation instinct? That man very well could have shot you, dead, in an instant! What on earth were you thinking! What am I going to tell Master Bruce!"

Dick was hysterical. "What do you mean _dead_? If I hid I'd be dead, like- like a coward! And you only beat him because I ambushed him here! And Bruce? BRUCE? You called him before the cops! Y-you never even called the cops! What's your problem! I-I never should've I..." Dick tumbled down as he tried to climb the stairs. He began to cry. _Running away. Again_.

Alfred walked up to the but, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Master Richard, I'm sorry for frightening you. And now- well, it _is_ time to call the police. Hopefully the mob won't bail him out," Alfred took out the phone."

"Mob? You mean Zucco, right?" Dick realized why Alfred wouldn't call the cops first.

"Yes, but at this point, we have to rely on the police. Either way, it's unlikely that whoever hired that man doesn't have multiple agents, so we're going. Now!"

"Okay but.. what about Batman?"

" _Batman_?"

"Yeah. He fights crime. He could do it better. Should do it better."

"Well, Master Richard," breathed Alfred, not expecting this turn, "we can't exactly call him." They continued up the stairs, soon emerging from the crypt. "Besides, I'm sure he's already on the case."

* * *

 **Novick Street, North Gotham, Seven O-Six PM**

Batman pushed his sleek armored car's gas pedal down further as he pushed the audiotape back into his car's radio, clicking 'play' for the fourth or fifth time, scanning it for all he could get.

Cloth ruffled. "Thanks again for your protection, officers," it was Edwards, who had presumably just turned on his hidden audiotape.

"Protect and serve, Mr. Edwards. I'm sure you know that." said an officer.

"Well, you've done a lot more of protecting and serving at my establishment," said Edwards, more casually now.

"Well we ain't gonna do squat there anymore," said the other officer, prompting laughter from the front seat.

"That was uncalled for," came Edwards.

"Well, so was the arson!" More laughter, even some from Edwards. "Laughter- see, Chuck, he's fine. We got an easy gig tonight."

"Well, easy gigs don't pay as much," said the other officer. Batman growled. He hated corrupt cops.

"Hey- make this easy, and I'll give you some of the the, eh, special privileges to my club- or wherever I find my next employ." Edwards sounded very confident, and, to Batman, much more detestable.

"Well, sure. I hope you know, the whole legal and, heh, extralegal community in Gotham is on your side."

"Hmmf. I doubt that. Mob tensions are rising, and I was a target."

"Yeah, but I'm sure they'd leave you alone. Have you heard about the hat guy?" Said the second officer.

"Hat guy? No, what's his deal?" asked Edwards.

"He's stirrin' up trouble between some of the big bosses. Probably influenced some of this arson shit."

"With who?" it sounded like Edwards moved forward, "Zucco?"

"Zucco?" more shuffling from the front, "Well... yeah. What makes you say?" The officer's tone lowered.

"I- well, Batman asked about it. Betrayal in his mob, gossip, basic Batfreak stu- whoa! Whoa! Put the gun away, son!"

"So, _Ronny_ , what did you tell him?" said the officer venomously."

"I told him I've been hearing the name 'Garfield Lynns' a lot, but-" the gun cocked, "Hey, HEY! I didn't even mention what his deal was with the Grayson boy!"

"Good. And you won't say a word about Lynns, to anyone, understa-" glass shattered, and the tape cut out.

Batman rounded a hill, nearly at Wayne Manor. He had been trying to focus on the tape to distract him. It had stopped working, and now he sat wordlessly, the well-muffled hum of the engine and the blood pumping through his ears. His heart was up in his throat, his fear surging. He hoped to God that nothing had happened to Dick or Alfred. Suddenly, his in-car phone rang. It was Alfred.

"Alfred! Tell me it's alright!"

"Master Bruce, the assassin has been apprehended, with no small thanks to Master Richard."

Bruce let off the gas, slowing the car down to a repetitively slow 90 miles per hour. He sighed with relief. "Well, tell him I said thank you."

"I won't Master Bruce," declared Alfred dryly, "I won't have thoughts of vigilantism getting to his head." He paused. "He was.. enthralled with the Bat signal. What was that for?"

"I didn't go. I'll.. turn around now," he did just that.

"Very well, sir. And.. what are your plans for young Mr. Grayson?"

Batman sighed. "I- Bruce Wayne and Batman- am going to protect him and make sure Zucco and all of his accomplices get a fair trial, and get put away for a long, long time, so that he never turns out like me."

"Then what, Master Bruce? Will you leave him in the Manor for the next decade? He needs a father. Only you can be there for him."

That didn't make sense to Bruce, but he didn't say anything. "Can you research a man named Garfield Lynns."

"Right away, sir." He let Batman drive for a minute. "We... have a problem, sir."

"Just say it, Alfred."

"Mr. Lynns is dead sir. A fire on a military base in Nicuragua seven years ago led to 17 reported dead, including Mr. Lynns.

"Body?"

"None, sir, but only 14 bodies were found, and only 8 definitively identified. These images, sir..."

"What was the excellerant in the fire?"

"Jet Fuel, Gasoline, and Propane were all combustion agents. There was no identifiable cause to the fire."

"Multiple agents- just like at the Club. It can't be a-"

"Sir, it's probably a coincidence. Alcohol and Gasoline. Not at all related."

"I doubt it." He narrowed his eyes as he rounded another hill, the city skyline coming into view.

He hung up.

* * *

 **Falcone Shipping (whats left of it), North Gotham, Seven Twenty-Five PM**

Batman slammed on his brakes, allowing his momentum to boost his eject, the armored man closing his body as he flew out, rolled in the air, and released his cape to glide down in the midst of the GCPD circle.

The mangled iron corpse of the Falcone building was a good symbol for their weakened crime family. Still, Batman didn't enjoy seeing it. Ever. Under what used to be the entryway was a man in the distinctive sky blue of a police uniform, pacing back and forth, wearing a comically large hat, surrounded by other officers.

"Batman- Batman's here"

"What the hell?"

"It's the goddamn Bat!"

"Is he allowed to be here?"

A fat man walked forward. "Hey! I'm OIC until the comish gets here, and since this guy's logo's in the damn sky, he's allowed in- this time, at least."

"Thank you, Bullock." Batman waked forward, asking, "Who's this officer? What's the hat? What's he saying?"

"Don- don't thank me. I don't really like you, but- this is weird. As hell," he took off his hat, pointing at the pacing, muttering man, "This is- hopefully still is- Officer Dervick. We're not sure if we should take off the hat. He's muttered some garbage about winter and a tea party and a ball. Never seen anytin' like it."

Batman looked over. "The policeman's ball is in a week and a half. On the winter solstice."

"Yeah- we figured as much, but we have no clue what he means by that. The poor guy doesn't seem to be physically hurt, at least," the sergeant scratched the graying hairs on the back of his head. "He, uh, also had a paintbrush in hand. I guess you haven't seen this- AY! Montoya! Give the Bat a light!"

She flipped on a large flashlight, showing Batman a banner, made of torn white cloth, strung between two tortured iron bars. Batman first assumed that it was a stray sheet that chanced upon the scene, but now it was shown to be bearing a message, crudely written in green paint.

 _Get Ready 4 WONDERLAND_


	10. Winder Wonderland

_**Chapter Ten: Winter Wonderland**_

 **Wayne Manor, Kane County, Five Forty PM, December 22, 1989**

Bruce tied his tie and cuffed his cuffs and clasped his clasps. He was ready, in a pressed black tuxedo with subtle gold- albeit fake gold, as Bruce wasn't that pretentious- ornaments, which he added himself.

He walked out of the room, chomping on a mint although he had already brushed his teeth. To his surprise, and chagrin, Dick was standing there. He looked like he was in a mood. Again.

"Dick- how are you? You look.. well," Bruce said as he looked at the boy. He wore grey sweatpants, which didn't match with his white golf shirt.

"So, you're going to this Ball. And you didn't bring me. Or tell me."

"Well, no, Dick. It's not an event for children. But-" he seemed to have a hard time saying this, "I'm sorry for not telling you. But don't be upset. Christmas is soon, and that- well that's always wonderful." Bruce remembered how, even in his darkest times, Alfred really could make the best Christmas dinner ever. The butler deserved higher praise, really.

"It's fine, Bruce. Just- tell me one thing. Will Zucco be there?" asked Dick, crossing his arms.

Bruce sighed, "Yes, he will probably be there."

"And what are you going to do about it?" growled Dick.

"Nothing tonight. But I promise, on _my_ parent's graves, that I will stop him."

Dick lowered his arms and said, "Enjoy your party, Bruce."

 **The Olympus Building, Downtown Gotham, Six-Thirty PM**

Bruce Wayne emerged from his car in his square-faced, even squarer-jawed grandeur, hair slicked back without looking overdone, simple black tux hugging him tight. He closed the back door to the car, and went to speak to Alfred.

"Make sure Dick's in bed by nine, and _please_ try to get him to admit what he wants for Christmas?"

Alfred chuckled at this. Bruce wasn't at all the concerned parent type, but it was relaxing to know the man who dressed as a bat was still mostly sane. "Will do, sir."

Bruce turned around to the hordes of press surrounding the ballroom steps, cut into marble just as every building owned by Maximilian Zeus- a man who many, even Bruce, the world's greatest detective, were sure had been using a fake name all this time- was.

The name Zeus, however, fit. It was god-like, with a tall look melding neoclassical and art deco, combined with the moodiness of Pinkey's architecture. above the tall doors, from which came a gold light that surrounded the building, was a black granite lightning bolt. Draped across it was 'WELCOME'.

The Gotham City Servant's Christmas Ball, often called simply the policeman's ball, was an annual celebration by and for the upper class of Gotham, with many police officers and firemen being invited for good press. Bruce had attended for the past two years, but never agreed with it, especially because it was the most lavish gathering of the city's most corrupt of any given year.

Not long after Bruce got out of his Rolls Royce, it was parked at a red light, surrounded by hordes of equally expensive cars in the ghastly canyon between Gothic monoliths. Cars surrounded it, all dangerously close together, but, despite how the rest of the city seemed to try to kill you at every opening, no matter how unsafe their habits, Gotham drivers were famous for how rarely they got into accidents. Perhaps the rot of the city toughened them up. It was for this reason that nobody was worried when a large, tall delivery truck stopped about two feet away from the incredibly expensive car Alfred was driving. As their three lanes were stopped at the light, the trunk to said expensive Rolls Royce was popped, a subtle detain nobody had noticed. Out of the thin opening fell, or rather poured, the lissome figure of Dick Grayson.

The eleven year-old boy was wearing one of his old circus costumes, a deep green one with a yellow breast, with an added red and black leather jacket and winter gloves he found in the manor. In his left pocket he had a thick grapple line and hook, in his right, he had a file. The stowaway stood up, feeling the melted slush on the street under his thin tights. He crouched to make sure Alfred didn't see him, and popped the trunk back into place. He was ready to roll- or so he thought.

Then the light turned green.

With dangerous efficiency, the large truck accelerated at the exact same time Alfred did, and Dick faced his first brush with death.

He dropped to the ground, refusing to panic. He was in push-up position, with only his fingertips and toes touching the ground, as he didn't want to get wet. It also provided a good warm up for his muscles, which he needed considering what he planned to do. He held the position for nearly a minute until the he saw the reflection of the light turn yellow. He shifted to the side, and when it turned red, a car stopped directly above him. My some miracle, nobody at all had seen him.

Dick clumsily moved, one limb at a time, out from under the car. Once he had his left leg out, he put the whole sole of his foot firmly on the ground and pulled himself out. He moved smoothly, got out, and stood up with plenty of time to spare. Turning left, he went through a single lane of traffic, the small boy's presence confusing a few drivers, but he didn't interrupt traffic or have any authorities called on him.

When he reached the sidewalk, he stood up at his full height of Four-foot-eight. He kicked off the egde-of-road slush from his feet, now wet and cold. But he decided to play it tough, as he had a long road ahead. He looked up at his foe, impressed.

He knew he'd never get in by the brightly lit, scarlet staired, tinsel covered front entrance, so if he was to break into the party and confront Zucco, he'd have to climb and find an entrance- one that, if he was really lucky, Batman would use. So first, he had to figure this out.

The Olympus Building was a newer addition to Gotham's Skyline, but it didn't look it. The 21-story building's limestone used looked old and worn, but noble. Judging by the fat Ionic Pillars surrounding the entrance and the replica of a Greek Temple atop it, this was the goal. Unfortunately, the heavy stylization made most of the outer walls seem nearly unscalable, but Dick was determined to climb them. He observed carefully. The front entrance was on the second story, and the first was a square, larger than the rest of the building, and the street level walls were made of white marble, which had many Greek gods and goddesses carved into its side.

Dick bent his knees and ran at the wall. A few feet from it, he jumped, landing his feet on a carving of Zeus' leg, with his gloved hands hanging on the god's arm. He climbed up it like a rockwall, only much, much faster, jetting himself up with Zeus' beard and some lightning bolts, before instinctually doing a cartwheel over the edge.

He stopped himself. This wasn't the focus. It wasn't the time to show off. He breathed deeply, and blinked for a full two seconds. When he opened his eyes, he looked around more. He was in what would be an outdoor cafe, but it was closed for the winter, or at least the night, its black metal chairs on top of the similarly made tables, covered in a cloudy layer of snow. Dick knew he'd make footprints, so he decided not to care as he carried on.

At the corner of the rest of the imposing building was an angualr pillar, which softened the corner out to a diagonal edge. About twenty feet up on this flat side was a flagpole. Dick wasn't sure if it was for an American or Greek flag, but all he really cared about was a good hook point.

Dick took out a wrapped up line from his pocket. Taking a bit of time to untangle it, he eventually managed to toss it up, the sharp weighted tip snagging around the pole. Dick held it tight and lifted his feet up. No give. He bounced up and down, but the pole stayed. He decided it was safe, and stated to pull himself up with the line.

He eventually got to the top of the rope, and, as he gathered his rope, the way down looked more intimidating than the way up. He sighed and kept going. He balanced on the pole and swung the line like a lasso. He let go, and it flew across the building, but falling short of his intended destination, the pole holding the welcome banner.

He was out of practice. It was time for a trial by fire. He inched up, getting himself to the ball end of the flagpole- the highest up, but also the least safe. He held his breath, spun the line, and tossed it with all the might his balancing act could muster. It cut through the air, and the weighted end wrapped around the banner's support pole, another 3 stories up.

It wasn't over yet. Dick wrapped his hands with the line, tight enough to be secure but not so tight as to injure him, and kicked off. He fell for a second, but only just. before the rope swung him over. He looked down, 50 feet bellow. Last time he had swung like this, this far up, was the night his parents died.

Once the rope steadied, he started to shimmy up it. He didn't count on the people looking at the banner noticing him. Damn! He should have. It wasn't something he could change now, though.

After getting all the way to the top, he once again walked out on the banner and peered down. 70 feet. And he really didn't like the look of all the people on their phones.

 _Cops,_ he thought, _they're calling the cops. This high up, they can't tell I'm a child. I can use that to my advantage, though._

He took a deep breath and hopped down onto the support beams for a large lighting bolt that usually served as the logo for the building, whenever this banner wasn't obscuring it. About three-quarters of the way up the height was an air vent with a support beam a foot or so in front of it. He couldn't believe his luck, climbing down on the steel support beams like they were a normal jungle gym. He didn't look down, but he wouldn't have been bothered in the slightest if he did.

It took a bit of stretching, but Dick soon managed to reach over and take out the bottom screw of the circular air vent. He tried lifting it up.

 _Wait, this is stupid. I took out a screw. It's still metal, did I expect it to bend?_

He grabbed both sides of it, digging under the vent cover with his gloved fingertips. He pulled it to the left, leaving it open for him. The boy stepped back and then flung himself towards the vent, flying into the circular pipe with a _clang_ , followed by a _creak_ from the shutting opening. _Good,_ he thought, _my weight knocked it back into place. Now they won't know where I've been since an adult can't fit in here!_

He looked back. _Let's just hope I can open it again._ He crawled through the pipe, the hot air feeling good, but soon not so good on his thin-covered toes or inside his leather jacket. He didn't know how ventilation worked and really hope this lead somewhere. The only way to find out, of course, was to climb.

He eventually came across what looked like a fan room. It sucked him in, and, when he looked down the vent straight at it, it was a little harder to breathe. Thankfully, between he and it was a grate build into the shaft. Some wrappers and napkins clung to it. The air was cold, but Dick expected that. He was actually finding this rather exciting. He wished he hadn't gotten a haircut, as his hair was rather fun when it got windy.

Close to the inner grate sat an outer one. Dick took out his file and forced it open, sticking his head out from up top.

 ** _Clang_**

"Ow!"

In his excitement, he had forgotten to look up. Now he was half in a round ventilation shaft, his hand rubbing his head, which had just collided with a smaller pipe a foot or so above it. At least he hadn't hit the bolted part, but still.

No matter. He climbed out of the pipe and silently landed on the concrete floor. He walked up to the door and pressed his ear to it. Silence. The (in his mind) well-dressed acrobat opened it. Silence. He looked up and down the hall. Silence again. He fully stepped out, allowing for some noise as he closed the door, and took a deep breath.

 _It'll be fine_ , he thought, _maybe I'll even have fun._

 _Fat chance_.

The boy's brow furrowed as he stalked the hallway, eyes squinting and back hunched. He eventually found his way to a stairwell and followed the noise. No more silence.

At the 3rd floor, there was a door blocked by two men. They weren't security, judging by the fact that they lacked an earpiece and their suits weren't up to dress code.

Thugs in cheap suits. Dick decided to hate them, as they probably deserved. Dick dwelled on this, fists tightening. He could take them, he was sure of it. He had the element of surprise, and these were idiots, willing to do anything for any of the bad people here for a few bucks. But what would he do? They were both a foot taller than him, and probably weighed twice as much. He sat there, feeling useless, wallowing in anger and self-pity yet again.

But then an explosion was heard in the distance. Dick ran a dozen quick possibilities through his head, ranging from a fuse breaking (Dick didn't understand electronics) to the outbreak of nuclear war, but his attention was diverted when he saw the door unobstructed. Everyone else had clearly ran to see what it was as well.

Dick pushed open the door and ran, peering around people to see what was happening. The action was one the floor below him, on the ballroom, but the 3rd floor balconies had ample space for everyone. There seemed to be people coming in from a hole in the wall. They were wearing an assortment of masks, from ski ones to bunnies, but they all wore a bowler hat. A few had machine guns, some had bats, but most were unarmed.

"Ah!" Said the one in front, who wore an expensive tie and vest and wielded a shotgun. He continued in an airy, monotone voice "So you came to the Winter Wonderland! But this year, everything shall be wonderland! Let's decorate for it, shall we, party-goers?" He whipped the shotgun in front, shooting a woman in the face. Dick could only watch as her brains splattered, painting the white ballroom floor.

"Falcone! Wayne! Bertenelli! Kane! Maroni! Zucco!" Dick's eyes widened at that one, and he began to scan the room. "Elliot! Cobblepot! Crowne! Thorne! You are all invited." The goons began to open the winter coats, pulling guns out of pockets, hurling them at the guests.

"Put the shotgun down, now!" yelled a security guard, commanding a sizable force of 15 men surrounding the intruders.

The leader paid no attention, and said, finally with some emotion, "You have your paintbrushes. Get to decorating!" He then drew the shotgun to his chin and shot himself. His hat flew off

Dick paid no heed to this as security swarmed the dead man's body, for he saw Zucco. The boy ran around the floor until coming across a marble staircase, filled with fleeing party-goers. He jumped over them, pushing of the walls and banisters with ease. The mob boss was still in sight, and Dick sprinted after him.

Dick followed them through the kitchens and out the back of the building. He could already see the purplish flashing lights of police cars around the corner to the alley when he opened the door.

For whatever reason, in the dirty gutter, in front of two of Zucco's men, lied a man with a bullet in his head. Zucco pointed to an older man and a middle-aged woman in the corner, huddled against a concrete shipping ramp under a brightly shining light. The boss lit a cigarette and told his men, "No witnesses, dammit! An' for chrissakes, don't use another gunshot, cops are right there!"

A thug pulled out spiked brass knuckles and cracked his wrists. Dick's blood boiled. He saw pieces of broken asphalt and old wine bottles. He could have easily done the old, fat bastard in, maybe taking a few of the goons with him. He could probably smash in their skulls or cut open their throats or poke out an eye or two. He could end them, right then and there, like he wanted.

But he didn't. He couldn't. He remembered the bat signal, he remembered his pain, and he remembered his parents as he printed across the concrete shipping catwalk so fast that it disturbed the moths hovering around the light he jumped under. He landed mere feet from the men- from Zucco- and stuck his arms out in front of the people.

"S-STOP!" he yelled, "NO MORE!"

Zucco stared a bit, then realized what this was, facepalming. "Damn kid's been watching to many news broadcasts from Metropolis. Be gentle with him, aight boys?"

The two thugs looked at each other, smiled, and cracked their knuckles. Again.

"That, seems redundant...," said Dick in a small voice, the gravity of his situation donning on him.

 _Whoosh._

A shadow fell over the already dark alleyway. The puddle's reflections vanished, even Zucco's cigarette went out. They all looked up. Looked at the unmistakable wings of a bat.

The Batman landed crouching between the two thugs. He burst up, punching each in the jaw. His left leg went around, tripping the right goon as Batman avoided the punch of the left one's brass-armored fist, grabbed his arm, and broke it clean at the elbow. He then did a flip, his legs first smashing the right one's nose in, and then finishing the flip by landing flat on the other's chest, leaving them both barely conscious. Dick was in awe.

Batman charged at the boss, his scalloped arm blades at his throat. "You're going to stop. Tonight," he growled angrily. The man collapsed, hyperventilating.

"Cops!" He gasped. "Officahs!" He howled. "It's the goddamn BATMAN!"

Batman ignored him, walking up to Dick.

"Come with me. Now."

Dick didn't ask questions.

* * *

The drive was long and frightening. Batman was a crazy driver. Eventually they started driving through empty forest streets outside the city.

"So, Batman- are you kidnapping me?"

No answer. Just another glare.

"Okay, can you at least tell me why you're doing this?" The eleven year-old didn't expect a response.

"Why the hell would you do that?"

"I-" Dick stammered, not exactly ready for this, "I wanted to- to really stick it to 'em. I wanted to hit them where it hurt!"

"So why didn't you touch them? You had the element of surprise." His voice got calmer. Dick was surprised.

"I- I wanted to show them that they can't do anything. They didn't! Those people are fine, and I was right! They're useless, and cowardly!"

"And do you really think you stopped anything?"

Dick paused. "I- I will! Their work didn't change anything! They didn't get any better because of my parents- and they never will! You _have_ to understand that!"

Batman just looked straight forward unwaveringly. "I understand," he said, "more than anyone."

The car swerved off road. Dick screamed, but Batman stayed calm. They were going down a thin, worn, unpaved path through the woods. Eventually they got to a creek, which the car followed until it got to a waterfall.

"Uh- Batman? You know what you're doing, right?"

They drove right under it, now in a cave. The narrow path went on for miles, but, at their speed, it only took a minute or two to get to the cave's main body. The car's roof popped open and Batman hopped out. He walked over to a desk, only visible due to the lights around the turnstile where the car was parked.

"So, Dick, what do you want to do?"

"I-" He stammered again, thinking back to what happened in this past hour. "I want to stop Zucco. And show him that my parents weren't wrong. And that that's all he'll ever be."

"Good." Batman lit a candle and extended his hand. "Take it. Repeat after me."

Dick did.

"Do you, Richard John-"

"How do you-?"

"Grayson, swear that you will devote yourself to fighting crime and corruption in all forms, never to swerve from the path of righteousness."

"I- I, Richard John Grayson, swear to devote myself to fighting crime and corruption in all forms, and I will never swerve from the path of righteousness. I swear it!"

"Good," said Batman, slowly reaching his fingers under the face mask of his cowl, pulling it off to reveal, to Dick's astonishment, Bruce Wayne.

The boy's eyes widened.

"Time to get to work."

* * *

 **Gotham City, 22 December 1989**

Jervis Tetch was gleefully watching the news feed when the phone rang.

"Hello there," he said.

"Mr. Dodgson, its Skeevers, I-"

"Yes, yes. I saw what happened," he said in his strained voice, always sounding both youthful and old, "call me in the morning next time, I know tonight was a disaster, but I promise, Mr. Falcone will be the only man to profit."

He hung up. The phone rang again.

"Hello there," he said.

"Mr. Lewis, Boss Zucco told me to call, we-"

"Yes, yes. I saw what happened..," he droned on, "speak to me in the morning to schedule a meeting. I know tonight was a disaster, but I promise, the only man to profit from this, will be Zucco."


	11. Half Past New Years

_**Chapter Eleven: Half Past New Years**_

 **Brentwood Academy, Uptown Gotham, Seven Fifty-Three AM, January 1990**

"Bye Alfred! See you at three!" Dick smiled and waved at the butler, who drove away in the very same Rolls Royce that Dick stowed away in nearly three weeks ago. He wore a school uniform, consisting of tan pants, a white button down shirt, a black and red tie, and a navy fleece jacket, in which he had a walkie talkie, as Bruce was under cover, as this wouldn't be the first time the mob killed a child at school.

The boy turned around, hands hanging from his backpack straps, and exhaled. This was his first day of the second semester of fifth grade (which was delayed by snowstorms, pushing exams back to early January and the second semester do the 3rd Monday), and his first full semester that would be taught at a real school, as opposed to the circus' homeschool program, which, while giving him an academic edge (he was considered for the 6th grade class do to his proficiency), Dick chose to forget, as that was old life. It was easier that way.

Plus, it's what Bruce would do. And Bruce was a badass.

Dick was prepared to walk down the sidewalk along the hedges, and then turn, down the main pathway, and maybe find a side entrance, all with his head down. While he was excited at being here, at Brentwood Academy, he was also nervous about coming to school in a _Rolls Royce_. When he rounded the corner around the hedges, stepping through the main gate, he realized that he wasn't noticeably richer than any other students. Plenty were being dropped off in Limousines and Porsches, and plenty had expensive watches and tailored shoes. Dick simply used his plain brown backpack from Haly's Circus and wore black tennis shoes. He trotted down the path, looking around. He seemed to be average here. Then he looked ahead.

Brentwood Academy was an all-boys school, a massive campus, too big for a normal Middle School, but that didn't stop it. It had three four-story tall brick and stone buildings, all over 150 years old, and, despite numerous refurbishments, all kept the uncouth style of Gotham architecture before Cyrus Pinkney transformed the city. The campus was surrounded by a square brick wall that was normally eight feet tall, but several refurbishments made both its height and color inconsistent. The wall had twelve entrances, six of which were vehicle-accessible, which three being vehicle-only. The wall had tall pine trees along its outside, in an attempt to make the academy feel secluded from the whole city, but, after expanding to taking up what would be nine whole city blocks, the replacement of trees, and the growth of average building height, the city skyline was easily visible from in campus. Across a parking lot were another two buildings, clearly from around the 1950s, as they were very square, had much smaller windows, had no stone to contrast the dark brick, and each had a fallout shelter. To make up for its unseemly appearance, however, the academy had some of the best academics of any middle school of the country.

Dick walked a few hundred feet up to the first building, which had a tall clocktower atop it, making it distinct from the other two buildings which were less- than parallel to it. This was building One, which, according to the acceptance letter he got from the school, was where he was supposed to go. He walked up the steps, noting that classes started in a mere six minutes.

At the top of these stairs was a tall veranda, its pale grey pillars extending to the ceiling, which was almost at the level of the large clock, and there were 3 stories of windows which looked right at those pillars. The veranda floor itself was littered with pieces of paper and bits of everything from last week's exams. Dick was surprised that they survived past the storms that weekend. This veranda may have been particularly good, or it may just be the way schools are. There were many people around, but none recognized him.

When Dick walked into the front, the office was right at the side, which was convenient, and so he walked in there. There were already several students in there, several in chairs, and 3 talking to secretaries, with only one being open. Dick looked to make sure that nobody else had to speak to her, and, once confirming this, he went up with the letter out.

"Um, hellow Miss," he began, unusually unsure of himself.

"Yes? How may I help?" she responded.

"I'm Dick Grayson," he said, her the letter, "I'm new here."

"Oh! Mr. Grayson, I'm glad you're here, come with me please," she beckoned. Dick followed her through the door in the back left corner, leading through a larger room with more secretaries. She passed that one and got to a room with security guards before taking a left into a room with a single secretary.

"Is Principal Stevenson available? This boy here- he's Dick Grayson," presented the first secretary.

"Yes, he's available," droned the second, nearly spilling her coffee cup pressing a pager. The small red light above the doorway turned on.

"C'mon Mr. Grayson," said the first, going inside the principal's office. He followed.

The principal sat behind his desk, but stood up at the sight of Dick Grayson. He was about five and a half feet tall, and clearly in his early 40's, much younger than what Dick imagined a principal being. He had graying hairs barely visible on the sideburns of his short haircut. Dick, undergoing a detective's crash course along side his combat training in the past few weeks, concluded that he was ex-military.

"Hello, Mr. Grayson," said the prinical enthusiastically, "I am principal Stevenson. I normally don't make it a prerogative to meet new students, but for you I'll make an exception, both because of your recent tragedies, and because of your association with Mr. Wayne. I'm willing to help you in any way, shape, or form, and-"

"Thank you, sir," interrupted Dick, "but I'd really like to get to class."

"Of course," fake-laughed the principal, "I'm glad to see you're focused on your studies, it's a desirable trait in a young man." He pulled out a piece of card-stock paper with shiny detailing, saying, "here is your schedule and classes. The room numbers are easy. First is the building number, then the floor, than the room. Would you like to be walked there, or-?"

"No thank you. I'll be on my way. Sir," said Dick. He left, not liking all this focus he was given, but also resolving to stay positive. That was the one lesson Alfred had taught him, and it was just as valuable as any of Bruce's.

1-328, locker #1394, combination: 49-12-50. That meant his room was in this building. He walked over to a wide staircase, which was packed with people walking up and down. He walked up to the third floor, happy to be unnoticed. There was a plaque saying '1-301 to 1-330', with arrows showing where rooms up to 1-314 and 1-315 and on were. He took a right, walking down the hallway. Towards the ends of the windowless hallway sat room 1-330, and right next to it, 1-328. At the corner between these two was locker #1394. He sighed, recognizing what a pain corner lockers seemed to be, even though he had never had one. He unlocked his locker, took out his pencil bag and folders, and put his backpack back in the locker, closing it.

There was a minute until the bell rang, and the hallway was clearing up. Dick walked in to the classroom, and looked at the seating chart pinned to the bulletin board. He saw _Richard G._ was in the middle of the class, and, since there was nobody else who could be him, he went and sat down there. Soon after the bell rang, they heard announcements, said the pledge of allegiance, and sat back down.

"Good morning, class," sang the teacher.

"Good morning, Mrs. Flynn," came the chorus.

"Welcome to day one of semester two! Today, we have a new student in our class- say hello to Richard Grayson, who I'm sure plenty of you have seen on the news recently. Stand up Richard, if you don't mind."

He didn't, although he would if she brought up his parents. "Hello everyone," he said, "I'm Richard, but everyone calls me Dick," some sniggers came, "I just turned eleven last month and I hope to get to know you all." He sat down, hoping the teacher would understand that he wanted to talk no further. She obliged, and got to the lesson. Dick shook hands with a few students near him, but it seemed nobody was quite as excited for what the future had in store as he was.

* * *

 **Cafeteria Hall, Building Two, Eleven Thirteen AM**

Dick Grayson walked down to the cafeteria. He had his lunch money in pocket, hopefully sitting next to some guys he spoke to earlier. He stopped by the bathroom and scrubbed his hands well, as he had been taught, even though hopefully a private school lunchroom was cleaner than the circus, and then soon got out, only to be stopped by a security guard.

"Sorry sir, I didn't me-" Dick began, before looking up at him, "wait..."

The guard, a man with black hair and a goatee, laughed in a familiar tone. "Yes, it's me, Dick. Just making sure you're okay. I can't watch the whole campus at once, of course, and between classes is the most dangerous time of day."

"I'm fine Bruce. I have some fr- guys waiting for me," he said, making sure nobody was eavesdropping.

"Good," he concluded quickly, and then, as Dick turned away, grabbed his arm. "Dick, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I _do_ trust you."

He looked sincere.

"Believe me it's fine. I don't lie," responded Dick after a pause.

Both walked away.

* * *

 **Wayne Manor, Kane County, Five Fifty-Five PM**

Bruce had gone to work at Wayne Enterprises after school let out. He hadn't come home yet.

Dick was sitting atop his usual haunt, the chandelier above the foyer- that is, the main foyer, not the small one, which was just a small hallway lined with trophy cases and a few chairs. It was fine for a normal foyer, but Dick always assumed this wide, open space, with its dark wood paneling and red carpets and elegant staircases was the true foyer, fitting for this massive house. Of course, after living here for a month and a half, Dick didn't think the house was as big as he used to. He had explored pretty much all there was to explore. He had also trained in all he felt he could train, that is, without Bruce.

So now? Now, Dick was bored.

He had finished his homework an hour ago, and, as of the past week or so, Alfred had stopped trying to get him to stop climbing everything he could find. The acrobat could swing above the floor far below, but without an audience it was much less fun.

Dick sighed loudly, shaking every crystal hanging from the chandelier. He sat there, wishing, more than anything, that he could go out with Batman, for at least one night. But now, he was beginning to think it'd be months before he was 'ready'- although he had already shown Bruce the video from last year of him taking down a wrestler solo in Denmark. Even Alfred had said that Dick was twice as capable as Bruce was before he had disappeared for five years. But it didn't matter. After all he had been through, he really was just a kid. He couldn't even be on Bruce's direct comms during missions- just monitor duty. And only before midnight.

And to think a few months ago he was called 'Boy Wonder'.

Dick didn't like feeling moody. It may have been worse than feeling useless. Even the beauty of the sunset, albeit marred by Gotham's signature smog, wasn't enough to calm him. As he looked on, over the hills, over the gates, he saw movement. A car! Bruce was home!

The chandelier buckled under Dick's quick movement. He stood up, hopped to the other side, than dove over to one of the four smaller chandeliers on the ceiling. He grabbed the slack chain, which was long enough to extend the chandelier to the floor, and, after making sure it was safe, hopped down, swinging the chandelier and himself in opposite directions. He jumped off and landed on the large mantle, right in front of the massive portrait of some old Wayne. Dick then back flipped onto the banister of the stair (going "Woaaahhh" as he swung his leg around to get balance), then hopped down to where his feet were supposed to be, the forrest and gold carpeting of the mahogany stairs.

He ran down them, skipping a few steps, and then took a left. He ran down to the north wing of Wayne manor, which contained the parlor and entrance to the Batcave, but Dick just ran to the garage. He opened the door just as Bruce was coming in.

"Oh, hello, Dick, you seem excited," said Bruce in his throaty voice, "Its dinner time, isn't it? What's Alfred cooking?"

"Dinner?" asked Dick, disappointed, "I wanted to go train! My costume's practically done, and-"

Bruce cut him off, "If you're going to fight crime, here's another lesson: It takes energy," he got on his knee to stop Dick from cutting in, "and the best way to get energy is by high-calorie meals. Now, lets see what what Alfred has for us, and that's an order."

Dick expected him to smile, but he didn't.

* * *

Bruce and Dick ate a fine meal of swiss steak and white rice. Both were surprised by the glamour of the meal, but Alfred insisted he simply chose to try something new, and all the unhealthy experiments were to be saved for parties, as Bruce's diet, and now Dicks, was very strict. This experiment, however, was successful. The two dined on a window side table, one much smaller than the large dining room one, where Bruce had eaten prior to adopting the boy.

They ate wordlessly. Almost.

Dick finished first. As he got up to put his dish away, however, Bruce finally spoke up, "So, Dick, how was school today."

Dick raised an eyebrow, but sat back down, answering, "It went fine. I met a few guys, they were nice. Nobody even asked about my parents. It's a nice school."

"I'm glad to hear it Dick," he got up, and the two of them walked to the bar and kitchenette to their left, "I hope you meet some longtime friends at that school. But now.. well, I think you'll be happy to know that I found a lead."

"A lead?" Dick's ears perked up, "What kind of lead?"

"The kind that could be dangerous. I need you on comms. Think you can handle it?"

Dick raised his eyebrow yet again. He was never on Bruce's comms. "Why?"

"Because you have to. No monitor duty today. That's an order."

"And if they get cut out? You said it yourself last week that Zucco had bought a large shipment of radio jammers."

"Well then, I'm going to need to hope for good luck," he concluded, walking off.

Dick scoffed. Bruce didn't believe in luck.

* * *

"Alfred," Dick said, walking into the butler's room, "I'm gonna need that costume you gave me. Now."

"Dick- do you mean to tell me Master Bruce has approved your request to go out on patrol with him?"

"No, all," he asserted, leading the butler out of his room, "I mean he's hiding something from me. He doesn't want me to follow this. He put me on comms duty-comms _!_ He never does that!"

Alfred's nose twitched, as it did when he was curious, "Well, that's very unusual, sir. Did he say anything else?"

"That he had a lead."

Alfred's mind raced, as he too was forced to take a crash course in detective work, but his experienced outmatched Dick's. "I agree he's hiding something from you, Master Richard, but I don't think the costume will be necessary." He walked away, quicly stepping down the stairs, and disappearing behind the grandfather clock.

* * *

Alfred finished down the stairs, stepping into the Cave. Lights illuminated the crescent-shaped floor of the base, proving Bruce had been there (they _really_ had to get this thing off the grid soon). From the opposite side of the crescent, Bruce emerged from a side cavern, attaching his blue breastplate.

"Master Bruce, please tell me what it is you are hiding from that boy?"

Bruce sighed, putting on the cowl. "Does it matter? You get the night off, at least, until his bedtime."

"He'll find out eventually, sir. I know you keep your secrets, but I assure I will not defend your keeping of this one if you won't confide in me!"

Batman's white eyes thinned. "I think I found Zucco. He's planning something big. Hell, every mob in the city is- but something has _him_ spooked more than the others. What, I don't know. But what I do know is that thousands are in danger, and, if I keep Dick on my own comms, I can protect him."

"From what? He's smart enough to figure this out, you know that, Bruce. You can't just hide this from him. Not after all this."

"Yes, I can." He attached his utility belt, "it's that or he stays upstairs, and he'll just try and go out again, and I can't have that, _especially_ not tonight. And if he was on monitor duty, he'd probably go out too. There's nothing wrong with comms. He'll be fine- better than any other option. So my question to you, Alfred, is what would _you_ have me do?"

Alfred hated when Bruce got this angry, but he nevertheless continued, "I think that you ought to take him with you. I think that he _needs_ to _know_ what it's like. He's getting ideas in his head that this is easier than it looks. He expected to be ready by New Years', and now January's halfway over! If you want to dissuade him from going into this too early, the best option is to show him firsthand! Anything else is doing nothing but harm to him- and we don't need you harming him too, on top of everything else."

That last part struck Bruce. For years, he blamed himself for his parent's death. Survivor's guilt. Something he tried to fix when he killed Joe Chill- and what did the opposite. He never wanted Dick to be hurt the way he was. Had he really forgotten about that?

Alfred looked at him right in the eyes.

"Fine, Alfred," he said, his voice mellowing with shame, "I'll take him out this week. As soon as he's- as his costume is ready. But not tonight."

"Oh, yes tonight," yelled Dick Grayson, running down the stairs, then breaking into a triple front flip, before sticking the landing in front of them. He wore a costume, clearly inspired by his circus days. The torso was red, with three large yellow straps connecting the kevlar weaving, with a black and yellow _R_ on the left chestpiece. The legs too were in red, but the boots and sleeves were a deep, vibrant green. The long sleeves stopped at the wrist, where his fitted red work gloves began. He wore a cape with a yellow inside and black outside, and a green domino mask.

"What the hell are you wearing, Dick?"

"Master Richard- did you hear all of that?"

Dick grinned, enjoying how ashamed Bruce looked, even under the cowl, "It's my _suit_. And yeah, of course I heard all of that- but don't worry, I get it! And I _promise_ I won't hold it against you if you take me out on patrol." The eleven year old put his hands on his yellow belt, beaming, "Oh, and my name's not Dick," he pointed to the R, "I'm Robin, the Boy Wonder!"


	12. The Dynamic Duo

For those of you wondering what exactly the Batsuit looks like, I'd say it's got a similar look to an Injustice 2 suit. You can't put links in these docs, but the suit I'm talking about is called AK Battle Armor 5U89R (Alt), which is the 4th suit in the Injutice wiki's gallery. It has the same color scheme, but with less bulky metal armor (except on the chest) and more of a kevlar weave cloth look, the grays of the body are much darker, and the cape and cowl are black. The cowl also does not include a chinstrap. Hope that helps.

As for Robin, it's just Jason Todd's Young Justice costume, but with green sleeves, mask, and boots, and fully red pants.

Tell me if you have problems understanding, and of course, give advice and criticism! Without further ado- the longest chapter yet!

 _ **Chapter Twelve: The Dynamic Duo**_

 **The Batcave, Six Fifteen PM, January 1990**

"No," sighed Batman, "I can't I won't."

"But you said-" began Dick,

"I _said_ that you could go as soon as your costume is done," he stated.

"And? I am! C'mon, Al, defend me! I've got all this kevlar-weave stuff on the whole thing, practical gloves, acrobat boots _with_ climbing grip- that was hard to get right you know! See, I've got it all!"

Batman walked over to Dick- Robin, a name he could get used to- and took off his utility belt, thrusting it in front of his face. "Second to the mask, _this_ is the most important part of your costume. Is _that_ ready?"

Dick took off his belt, holding in front of his own face with hands on either end. It was, essentially, the same as Batman's, however about half of it was cut off and sewn together again, making it able to fit around his small waist. "Yes, it is! This pouch has batarangs- not really my style, but we'll fix that later- and this one has stun pellets and this one has sticky bombs and this one has flashbangs and this is where the grapnel goes and this one has a spare line and this one has lockpicks and this one has a scope and this one has smoke pellets!" said Dick, listing the belt's compartments from right to left without a single pause.

"Not bad," stated batman "But can you use it?"

"Can I? Of course I can! I practiced throwing stars at the circus, and my whole act involved lines and grappling hooks, and the sticky, smoke, flashbangs and stun pellets are all essentially the same thing, and my grandma taught me to pick locks when I was five!"

"No," glared Batman, "Can you use _it_? The belt, Dick."

"Robin." Dick put his belt on.

" _Dick_ , throw a batarang and a stun pellet at me."

Dick obliged. He looked down, opening one of the stiff belt compartments, pulling out a batarang, careful to make sure not to knock any others out of the pouch. He tossed it in the air, caught it, flicked it open, and threw it at Batman. It flew in a curve until being caught a foot away from Batman's neck.

"Try again. With a stun pellet."

Dick did this again, but, with the smaller stun pellets, he accidentally took two, he reached over with his left hand to grab the spare one, spun over on one foot, and threw one pellet at Batman, who caught it, and tossed it on the floor before it detonated harmlessly on the cold floor.

"I know all I need to," declared Batman, turning around.

"Wait what? I listened to you- I only threw one pellet, not two! I'm disciplined! And you would've caught that no matter what- a thug wouldn't have!"

Batman stopped and turned his head around, "Its not that. You took far too long fidgeting with your belt. You need practice. I'd give it a week or so. You'd fare fine against a lone thug, but those- those vultures," Batman practically spat out the word, "Always travel in packs. And you aren't ready." He turned again to keep walking.

"C'mon! I'm physically capable! You _and_ Al admitted it! And I'm not a bad detective, I-"

"You remembered a man with a burnt face named Garfield at the circus with Zucco. That tells me nothing about the Lynns investigation, and you making a mountain of _that_ molehill tells me even more that you are. Not. Ready," he walked down the stairs.

Dick stood in silence, taking off his mask. He then looked up, "Bruce- Batman! What was the lead?"

Batman was down below the cave's main level, on the car's turnstile when an answer came, "I've discovered that Tony Zucco is buying up the entirety of newly reopened storage facilities, some of which were previously destroyed by our unknown arsonist. The entire mob has been pulling out of this kind of thing, but Zucco is putting himself out there. It's bold," Bruce said, before turning to look up at Dick, knowing what the boy was thinking, "Too bold."

Dick walked back as Batman drove away, the headlights slowly dimming as they went deeper and deeper into the cave, the sound of the motor soon being overtaken by the sounds of running water. Dick stomped back around the crescent, turning his back on the turnstile- the place he made his oath. Alfred looked concerned.

"Master Richard," he exclaimed, reaching his arm out for Dick's, "this isn't an insult to you, you must understand that Master Bruce is simply concerned for your safety! If you allow yourself to train a bit longer, and be prepared for anything, you stand much better chances of surviving! Then one day you will see how silly this all was!"

"Whatever, Al," uttered Dick as he walked to the back, cape flowing as he walked into the back of the cave.

Alfred stood by the doorway, erect and regal as ever, despite his distress. "You know, Dick," he said, using the boy's nickname with deliberation, "I worry for Bruce every day," he paused for a response, but none came. "I do. He could die out there. Every night. Not because of his foes, of course- it's been two years since he began this, and it's clear that he's more than capable. No, I fear for his soul," he said without a hint of dramatization, "He's hateful, is what he is, he hates everyone, I fear. You, however, Dick- you can save him. I believe it. But you cannot do it unprepared or... or you could end up worse than him, and he sees that too. Please, understand, Dick."

"I understand, Alfred," came Dick as Alfred turn around, "but Zucco is _mine_." An engine revved, and out came Dick on a long, low, black motorcycle with eye-shaped headlights.

"Master- Dick, No!" yelled Alfred, but it was too late. Dick put on a motorcycle helmet, and, after quickly adjusting the seat for his height, flew off. He went past the workbench, past the computer, down the stairs to the turnstile, and zoomed off in the path of Batman.

"Thanks for the bat-cycle!"

"Oh dear.."

* * *

Batman's comms flicked on. "Master Bruce, I- Master Richard has.. commandeered a bat-cycle of yours."

Batman said nothing, not even mentioning the 'Bat-' nickname Dick had given everything, something that annoyed him. Alfred, however, could tell he was glaring.

" _What."_ said Batman, long and drawn out, but sharp and harsh.

"He's about a mile behind you, but I'm not sure he's prepared to stop."

"I'm already at the highway, Alfred. I can't turn now," his words were simple, but his tone venomous, "Patch him in. He _better_ have a helmet."

"Yes sir. Of course." Keys could be heard clacking.

"Richard John Grayson."

Dick flinched. Bruce had never used his full name. "R-robin, sir. After Robin hood, you-"

"I couldn't care less. What do you think you're doing?"

Dick could tell Alfred had no interest in piping in. He'd have to do this on his own. Good, if he needed backup right now, Bruce'd never let him go out. "I'm going to stop Zucco. We haven't seen him in three weeks! When will there be another chance? I'm going to stop him, no matter what!"

"No, Dick," growled Batman, "You're not. I told you to stay in the cave. You're only hurting your chances by doing this."

"What I'm hurting is my parent's memory! I have to stop Zucco asap!"

"ASAP?" Batman growled, "no, what you need is to help me take down the mob. And you can't do that unprepared! Or do you want your parents memory to end with a flash in the pan and one man missing some teeth? Do you?"

Dick said nothing, but the bike slowed down. Dick really did feel unready. He was uncomfortable on this large bike, less than a head shorter than he.

"Dick,", said Batman, "do you want to see Zucco at his lowest? Lower than your parents could have ever been? Without his empire, without his loyal servants, without power? And see the fear in his eyes as it all crashes before him?"

"Yes," replied Dick vengefully, "I do."

"Then you're not ready," roared Batman, "And I need you to GET BACK TO THE CAVE."

The cycle stopped fully, before even getting to the highway. Dick's feet dangled above the creek's water. "Yes sir.." he uttered, turning around to return to the cave.

Batman turned off comms, huffing.

* * *

 **Cape Carmine, the Cauldron, Old Gotham, Seven Oh-One PM**

Falcone Shipping yards once made up a fair piece of Cape Carmine, but, after years of whittling down the Roman's empire, large swaths of it had been burnt down, and even larger swaths had been sold of.

Now, here, hundreds of feet form the water, Batman was watching over the triangular tops of rows of storage units, eyeing the concrete paths between them.

"..And you choose to meet _here_?" came a voice. Batman recognized it. Zucco.

He dropped down, cape and cowl soon become a horned puddle of black. Zucco and four men walked up. He was yelling on a phone. He sunk further away when he saw a metal door fly up, and a man in a long black winter coat exit the storage unit. He held a phone in one hand and a tophat in the other.

 _Tophat_ , thought Batman, _could be the man behind the attacks at the party. Or it could be an associate. Why would he be meeting with Zucco though? I doesn't make sense.._

Batman dropped a circular 'evesdropper' on the roof of the storage unit, then sunk back even further, patching their words through his cowl.

"Tetch, why'd you agree to meet _here_? My most recent acquisition? Really?" came Zucco.

"Searching 'Lewis', Batman. Also running sonar scans, " rung a voice in Batman's ear. Dick. He was at the computer. Batman chose not to reply. Dick hopefully understood.

"Why, Mr. Zucco, I hope you understand, our dealings here are for the purpose of preventing any attacks on your transport vehicles. I know we weren't followed. Were you?"

Zucco sighed, "No, Lewis, we weren't. Now, let's see what you have, eh?"

"Of course, Tony," Lewis paused, indicating, at least to a detective like Batman, that he rarely used Zucco's first name, "I hope that your dealings are more successful this time around."

"Ah, trust me, they will be, uh, Charles," replied Zucco, indicating that he didn't like Tetch using his first name, "will it be better than Lynns' though? I-"

"Lynns!" repeated Dick, "Oh, and now I'm searching for Charles Lewis."

"Shh, shh, Tony," nobody stopped him- Lewis held the cards in this meeting. And who the hell was he? "I assure you, Mr. Lynns' betrayal will never affect you, I promise. And how often do I deliver on my promises?"

"Always.." muttered Zucco, "just gimme the shipment. Is it in there-?"

"Of course," laughed Lewis.

"It.. is? Ya know, we could just, take it."

Lewis laughed even more, "Why yes, I know, but trust, I think, is the way to go!"

Zucco scoffed, "How do you do that? Come up with a rhyme in half a second? 'Nyways, thanks for trusting us."

"Well, I did suggest you buying up these lots to make both our lives easier. Besides, who else would I trust? The Falcones? The Thornes?"

Zucco's men all laughed, "Well," said their leader, "That's why we're the best of the lot! Now bring it out, we'll play fair. And pay fair."

"Good," Lewis snapped his fingers, "Pike, bring it out, and Tony- I hope we need no more negotiation on the price."

"No- of course not, we have the cash agreed on hand- not a cent more or less."

The small group all went quiet as wheels squeaked along with weight upon them. Whatever this was, it was heavy.

"I hope you have a truck that can fit all of this," said Lewis.

"Yeah, we do, but first, let us inspect the shipment- don't want you conning us."

"Of course, Tony, we have nothing to hide."

"Good," said Zucco, "I really do like you, Charlie. Zucco and Lewis hasn't got the best ring to it, but I say we make a great team. A real dynamic duo."

Dick scoffed, reminding Batman.

"Dick," whispered Batman, his fingers on his ear, "use the sonar to see what's in the crates."

"Already tried. Can't tell. Wires and canisters and stuff. Maybe pyrotechnics? Oh and Batman- if you can, get a look at, eh, 'Mr. Pike'."

"Why?" whispered Batman, climbing atop the storage unit, taking out his periscope to see the gang members, "This isn't safe"

"Can you see his face?"

"No. He's in a mask. I'm zooming in- he seems to have.. burns, around his left eye."

"Okayy- sonar is picking up he has a large welt on the side of his head. Much like our pal 'Garfield' at the surface." He breathed heavily.

Batman hopped back down. So Garfield Lynns- or their suspect using that name- was here, as "Mr. Pike".

He thought as he walked, running quietly down the row of storage units to where the truck was, ready to fight as the men in the row in front of him moved about, carrying their contraband.

Batman got to the Zucco's truck- a pickup with a trailer. There was an armed man guarding it, but he was walking around. When Batman was out of his line of sight, he looked down to where the deal was, a few hundred feet away. Zucco and his men were returning. Calmly, Batman tossed a tracer under the truck, and went over to the other side of the storage units. The guard walked around. Batman was unnoticed.

He draped himself in his cape, and sticking to the shadow, and walked back down.

"Batman- Batman! Your evesdropper was dissabled! Working on it now!" said Dick, panicking.

Batman pressed against the wall, "Don't worry. I've been in dangerous situations before."

"I know, I know. Reviewing the scans," Batman kept walking as he heard Dick typing, "Holy surveillance, Batman-"

"Just tell me."

"I know- the schematics have the places of every security camera in the docs. They're basic CCTV black and white, 3 frames per second- but, reviewing the scans, there's about a dozen more in your area- tiny, 15 fps, thermal cameras to. And they're all wired to one place we can't pick up. Barely noticeable. But, if you ask me, they know you're there!"

A few dozen feet in front of him opened another storage unit. A man, cockily holding a pistol, stepped out. "Oh, you're exactly right- now, don't put up a fight! Hey, Tetch," beckoned the thug before being knocked out with ease.

He backed up around the car, careful not to indicate he had tampered with it, sneaking away as Lewis- who must have been Tetch- walked up.

"Robin, search for Tetch. Clear everything you have for Lewis."

"Wha- well, Okay. That's easier- same dimensions? Because Lewis is pretty short, and there's a guy here who matches the leader you're with and is named Tetch."

"What is it, Dick?" he whispered, keeping his voice as quiet as his footsteps.

"Well, in a newspaper, an Alice Elizabeth Tetch and Alice Elizabeth Tetch Jr. were killed as collateral damage in a mob shootout. Marriage and birth records show that the husband and father of the Alices was a neuroscientist working for GothCorp named Jervis Tetch."

"So why is he helping the mob-"

"I bet money he's playing them. Playing the long con for revenge."

"Exactly what I was thinking, Dick. And then there's the names..."

"Alice. Just like Alice in Wonderland. And the shooters at the ball wore hats, just like Tetch's, and spoke of Wonderland."

"Could be a coincidence."

"But Tetch was a neuroscientist, studying suggestion. The guys could have been mind controlled."

"And what if I said that was far-fetched?"

"Oh- this is a test. I see. Well, I'd say that it's awfully suspicious that all of the hats hat a bomb mechanism that burnt them away before they could be taken in police custody."

"Exactly."

Dick didn't expect any more compliments.

"And.." Bruce sighed. "I'm sorry for being hard on you earlier. You're a fine detective."

"I-, I-,,, thank you, Bru- Batman." He took a deep breath, his voice raising to it's optimistic tone, "Uh, are you letting them get away?"

"Yes. Problem?"

"I mean, it's Zucco..." the boy paused, swallowing his emotions, "But it's always better to let them get away and leave behind evidence than catch a man with no evidence."

"Good," said the Bat, ready to confront Tetch's men, now alone. "Jervis. Do you really think you can get away with this?" growled Batman, jumping into the now cleared-out storage unit row, smoke pellet secretly in hand.

"Do _I_? No, I don't. But this Jabberwock does!" He exclaimed. Batman was already sick of the wonderland references.

"It's _Firefly_ , Jervs!" yelled a raspy voice through a clear filter, and out came a man in a modified fireman's suit and a flamethrower.

"Lynns." roared Batman, "You're supposed to be dead!"

"I know, Batman, long dead! But don't worry- I'm sure you'll be fine replacing me!" He fired the flamethrower, spitting an arc of flame at the Bat, who easily rolled away.

"Tetch! I know about you! What happened to your family! How you snapped! There's a better way to-" he rolled out of the way from another spurt of flame.

"I don't think you understand, little Bat! I don't think you do at all! But no matter- the Firefly _will_ take care of you!" He ran off, running with a group of his own thugs.

Batman was crouching on the ground, cape draped around him, ready to move anywhere, but instead, Lynns simply adjusted some knobs on his flamethrower.

"I was always called a firebug, but when I got the job offer in Gotham- home to the Bat- and well, knowing that fireflies can poison bats, well-" he slapped the flamethrower back into his hand, firing it with a much broader fan of flame, barely missing Batman as he grappled to the to of the storage unit, dropping a smoke pellet, "I couldn't resist!"

The flames evaporated away the dense smoke, causing Batman to cough, but he rolled away successfully. He stood up, looking over. It seemed Firefly had disappeared. But then, the floor began to bend under his feet- Lynns was melting the storage unit! Dammit!

He ran off the unit on the other side, taking a deep but unworried breath. Just then, the door to that storage unit blew open. A flamethrower was in Batman's face, poking from the smoke. He rolled out of the way, keeping his face and eyes safe, but still enveloping him in flame. The cape was flameproof, but the suit was less so. Batman ran down the row of units, but the flame was too bright to allow him to throw a batarang at Lynns.

As he backed away, looking for an opening, another small eplosion came from a unit, blowing off the door. He dodged it, but then came another. And another. And another. Lynn's cackles matched the burning around him.

"Batman- he's blowing the cameras Tetch added!"

"I can tell! Now be quiet, I need to find an opening- a safe one!" Batman had no intention of accidentally blowing up Lynns.

"I know you don't want to kill him, but listen to me- get away!"

"No! I have to get close to him! Anything else will blow his tank, scorching him!"

"Batman, listen! When he sets off a bomb, the radio waves cancel out the jammer he has for the Evesdropper! He has your Evesdropper!"

Batman rolled out of the way, back against a storage unit, before grappling to the one on the opposite side a second before it blew up, patching back in, "So you can overload it?"

"Yes, but I need a long enough break. You have to get far away, and fast! Faster than you can run- so hurry out so you can get to the car, and then maybe-"

"No need, Dick," said Batman, looking up at the crane far above them. He shot his grapnel up at it, flying up as another camera blew up, lighting fire to the storage unit.

"Hohooo, you think you can get away like _that_ ," whispered Firefly joyfully. He took out a small rectangular controller, pushing a button colored in with a red marker. Batman heard the arsonist's words- he had taken a chance, and, if Dick followed through, it would pay off.

The remote's signal took half a second longer than the others to send to the small bomb Lynns had placed on top of the crane, hundreds of feet up. The less than instantaneous radio waves were seen on the tall computer screen right in front of Dick. The evesdropper's icon turned on, registering fully, instead of just a blip. He smiled, going to its settings, and turned all of them all the way up. A popup came- warning of electrical overload. Dick smiled, overriding it. From the cowl communicator, Dick heard the explosion of the crane.

Once he was halfway up, Batman loosed his grapnel, pulled it back to his belt, and began to glide. He felt the explosion of the crane behind him, metal parts falling around as he fell towards the roaring flamethrower.

 _Come on_ , he thought.

Just then, the flame stopped and Batman heard a painful screen.

Batman landed lightly on the ground, his foot steps contrasting the crane's hook falling loudly atop a storage unit. He walked over to Lynns, who was breathing heavily. He was on the ground, and reached over to grab his flamethrower, but was stopped by the steel toes of Batman's boot. He yelled, pulling out a pistol, but was soon disarmed. Batman grabbed his collar, and, wordlessly, knocked him out with one punch.

He patched into the communicator, "Lynns is out. Cold," he said, undoing the straps to the unconscious man's fuel tank and flamethower. Under them were two breast pockets, outlined in fireman's yellow. In the right one was a sparking, fuming evesdropper.

"Was- was that a joke, Batman?"

He didn't reply, besides a simple, "Good work, Dick."

* * *

 **Batcave, Midnight**

Dick, much to Alfred's chagrin, was still awake.

Much to both of their surprises, Bruce came home before Two AM- or even One AM. He didn't say anything, but his tracer gave it away. Dick watched with anticipation to the dimly lit stone and metal road hewn from the rock, waiting for the car's headlights to show up. They soon did, and Batman got out of the car just as wordlessly as he had came.

"Bruce- what, what are you doing," asked Dick, getting up from the Batcomputer.

He took off his cowl. "Dick, when I said Good Work, I mean it. You followed orders despite emotion at the beginning of the night, and didn't hold it against me later on, something pretty much any other kid your age probably would. And your maturity tonight saved my life. So-" he reached out his hand, "would you like to go on patrol with me on Friday night?"

Dicks eyes widened. "Do- do you mean it!"

"Yes, I do, Robin."

Dick beamed and shook his hand vigourously, "Batman and Robin!"

"Yes," smiled Bruce, his eyes, for the first time in years, shining. "Batman and Robin. A _real_ Dynamic Duo."


	13. The Sensation of 1990

Thanks for the 1000 views! Any advice or critique, anything at all, is accepted! Sorry for the long update time, I was having a bad case of writer's block, but now I can't wait to write more

 _ **Chapter 13: The Sensation of 1990!**_

 **Brentwood Academy, Uptown Gotham, Two Twenty-Nine PM, January 1990**

It was Friday, and the end of the week marked the newest of beginnings.

The boys of the school were all excited to get out, prepared to run off to their rides and homes, ready for another relaxing weekend after the start of the new semester. Dick Grayson, however, was probably the most excited to get out. His last period was library, a class designed to encourage reading, something that Dick rarely did, although he could read very well. He had it once a week, this being his first, and was ready to read one short novel in class, and take one out for the weekend, his reading speed being over 500 WPM.

As it turned out, Dick couldn't even concentrate for a page.

He was _brimming_ with anticipation for the weekend. This wasn't abnormal, but Dick was far more excited than any other boy in the school, and he was more justified. This night being a non-school night, Bruce would finally take the boy out on patrol as Robin- and he couldn't wait.

After twenty minutes of pacing around the tight, low-ceilinged library (annoying several classmates), he eventually settled on a tall, wide book whose title stuck out to him- _A Complete History of the Justice Society of America_. On the cover were an assortment of heroes- The Flash, Green Lantern, Wildcat, Hourman, and more. Dick flipped through this, looking at collections of news reports of the JSA detailing their adventures through their decade of activity and celebrity.

 _This will be me one day_ , though Dick, smiling ebulliently.

He read the entire book in class, but still checked it out.

* * *

 **Three PM**

Alfred was always on time, impeccably. Dick knew this, and, to get to him amain, he broke perhaps all of the rules of the school and jumped out of the second story window. He rolled on the grass elegantly, getting grass stains on his khaki school pants, ran straight across the ground, and, after getting a few hundred feet from the school building, he thrust himself onto one of the old trees, using one of it's lower, sturdier branches to jump onto the tall brick wall surrounding the school, which he soon jumped off, landing on more soft grass, and running down to the deep blue, nearly black, Rolls Royce Alfred always drove.

"Get out of the line Alfred, we're going home!" Dick said, getting cocky, as he did whenever he was excited.

"Why, Master Richard! I heard the bell ring not a minute ago! You better not have skipped school for even a moment." Alfred replied firmly.

"Relax Afred," Dick said. Now that he calmed down, he let himself pant. And he did so a lot, "I ran across the yard, and had my books ready already. I even have the grass stains to show for it!"

Dick started to move his foot up, but Alfred stopped him. "No, no sir, I'd rather not look at _stained clothing,"_ he said clearly, "Let's take you home now, with haste."

* * *

 **Wayne Manor, Kane County, Three Forty-Nine PM**

Dick dropped his backpack at the front door, he didn't have to do homework until Sunday evening. He then ran straight to the grandfather clock, rotated the hands properly, and flipped a small, disguised switch in the middle. It popped open, leading Dick through the drywall, down the tight staircase, and into the cave. Dick soon got to practicing, something he'd been doing all week. He was, of course, always practicing at the circus too, as that was very important.

This thought of the circus, however, brought Dick down. In recent weeks, the pain had lessened severely, but some days he was far worse than others. When he was sad or happy it'd go off- the average days were the most comfortable. Dick felt the usual emotions, of loss and fear and bitterness, and of anger for letting himself be happy, only for it to be torn down so quickly. He sat at the chair to the Bat computer, but not crying. That was new, and a welcome surprise. Then, he promised he'd never so again.

After that, he got up, committed to optimism, and did a series of cartwheels over to the training wing of the cave. It was funny, thinking about the circus hurt, but doing things like he did- such as with the cartwheels- made him feel better. Perhaps he was more of a doer than a thinker- he only hoped that he could do as much good as he could. That would make up for their deaths.

Of course, despite having inner conflict over the matter, he still considered killing Zucco.

His mind, however, wasn't wrapped up in revenge. Small parts were, but, with the expectation of him joining Batman's crusade, he firmly decided that he'd make his parents proud by the delivery of justice, albeit with some lectures of Alfred on what driveless revenge did to the teenaged Bruce Wayne.

Dick sat in the dim light of the Batcave, listening to the faint, yet sharp squeals of the bats in the vast cave, kept away from the 'business' center of the cave by sonics unhearable by human ears. It was rhythmic, smooth, and, now, familiar. It calmed the anxious Dick, who's thoughts had been racing wildly. He was now focused on his need to be perfect when Bruce came home.

He got up, walked over to the closet/changing/supply room (Dick didn't know exactly what to call it) where the suits were stored, and put on his costume, minus the domino mask, and got out his utility belt. He packed it full, every device and gadget in its proper place, and walked out. He stretched for a bit (but not too much, as he knew that wasn't healthy for a workout), and then went to the computer to ready a voice command for a stopwatch. Silently, Dick walked over to the training space, opposite from the stairs down to the Batmobile's turnstile, adjusted his belt, and planted his feet.

"Set!" He yelled. The computer beeped, and the trial had begun.

Dick flung batarangs and sticky bombs at the targets, adding in a few flips and spins for style, and finished fine on his feet.

"Stop!" he yelled. The computer beeped again, showing his time.

 **00:11**

Eleven Seconds! Eleven! Without so much as a stumble or fumble! No way Bruce would say no now!

Dick stood up straight, and, to his slight surprise, laughed. It was a healthy, full laugh, one that made him feel light. Dick basked in triumph.

* * *

 **Five Forty-Nine PM**

"Hello, Alfred", greeted Bruce in his usual manner, "How are you today?" he asked as the sound of the garage door closing went on behind him.

"My day has been quite well, Master Bruce. Young Master Richard has spent the entire day downstairs."

"In the wine cellar?" said Bruce.

If Alfred was taken aback, he didn't show it. In this time, after Bruce got home and before he went on patrol, the butler was the only person, until recently, to know Bruce's true personality- however, that true Bruce still wouldn't tell a joke. Perhaps the boy had rubbed off on him. Nevertheless, Alfred replied, "No, Master Bruce, in the _cave_. He was very adamant about how his homework could be done on Sunday."

"Well, let's hope he didn't tire himself out too much," said Bruce pleasantly.

Alfred still didn't show it, but he sure was taken aback.

* * *

When the two men got down to the cave, Dick, to their surprise, wasn't there.

"Master Richard?" Called out Alfred, his voice echoing throughout the cave.

Bruce said nothing, his ears and eyes perking up at each and every noise. Soon, he heard a _woosh_ sound, but, with seemingly superb reflexes, turned around, grabbed a pair of green-clad arms, and swung the boy onto the ground.

"C'mon!" exclaimed Dick, fidgeting, as Bruce still wouldn't release him. He was dressed in his full Robin costume. "I _almost_ had you!"

"No," Bruce stood up, brushing off his pants, "You didn't." He then walked away to get changed.

"I suppose I'll get some food while you wait," said Alfred, leaving Dick by himself. In his defense, the butler hadn't been a boy in decades, and especially not one faced with what Dick was. For now, the boy felt happy, but who knew when that'd change. He could soon get angry or sad, perhaps even for no reason. What if crimefighting scared him? What if he wasn't cut out for it? What if he wouldn't even be allowed out tonight?

Dick, alone in the cave, decided to make another oath there. He stood up straight and clenched his jaw, swearing to himself that tonight was it- he'd go out, and show people like _Zucco_ that Dick Grayson, the fun kid loved by all who knew him, didn't die that night at the circus.

And thinking of Zucco stopped hurting for a bit.

"So, am I ready to go out yet?" asked Dick from in front of the dressing room door.

"Well, that depends on how well you can do," replied Bruce behind it.

"Then let's _do it_!"

Bruce had to chuckle at his enthusiasm (although the chuckle was entirely mental, Bruce may have made history with his joke earlier, but he didn't chuckle).

It seemed that the second Bruce stepped out of the changing room, Dick ran over to the training area, and began to show Bruce- now Batman- what _Robin_ could do. He did phenomenally, especially compared to Monday's performance, but, be it nerves or exhaustion, Dick made it in 12 seconds, not his record of 11.

"Well, Batman? I've mastered every weapon in you- uh, in _our_ arsenal, and-" he notice Batman had signed deeply, "what's wrong?" The caped man only turned around and shook his head. "What is it, Bruce? It's not like I'm not ready!" his voice became agitated.

"I don't know, Dick. That choice... was a lot easier on Monday. It's... probably too dangerous out there. Please- forget what I said. I'm sorry."

Dick's heart sank, his excitement plummeting, but his rage growing. Nothing this week but disappointment, "Yeah, well, if it wasn't dangerous I wouldn't want to help." He walked off, resisting the urge to stomp.

Batman heard his voice. It was clear, but not stunted in anyway. Dick wasn't just saying what he wanted to hear. He _understood_.

When Dick was halfway up the stairs to Wayne Manor, Bruce called out to him, "Stop!"

Dick stopped and turned around.

"You're right, Robin. You're right," Batman sighed even deeper, but then shrugged, an awkward movement with the heavy cape. He stood in front of the stairs to the turnstile and, arms raised adamantly, said, "What are you waiting for?"

Robin was in the Batmobile before Batman.

* * *

 **Miagani Point, Northwest of Gotham, Six Fifty-Eight PM**

After several minutes of driving, Dick finally noticed that the two of them were not taking the path into Gotham City. In fact, they were running parallel to it, driving on a tall hillside road, miles away from the bright lights of the Gotham islands, shimmering brightly as they broke up the bleak, grimy wastes of the alleyways and As dark trees began to swallow up his view, Dick figured he'd stop admiring.

"Br-Batman, where are we going?" Asked the chipper boy.

As a sign looked overhead, obscured by darkness, Bruce, unrecognizable with his face so darkened, spoke, "Miagani Point, former neighborhood of Jervis Tetch."

"I got it. Let's go-" replied Robin, but instead, Batman drove past.

"We go on foot, the gate has cameras, and we don't want to be seen. " said he as he stopped the car. "The car-"

"Batmobile"

"Car"

"Batmobile"

"Say that again. Go ahead."

Robin was silent.

"Stays here."

It was a weird sight. Miagani Point was built back when Thomas and Martha Wayne were around, a project for Gotham's growing middle class, but, in all its years, the aged brick wall around the neighborhood had never been the subject of two capes vigilantes clambering over the featureless surface.

The pair hopped down, brushing off their costumes onto the snow.

"I think this'd be either with grapnels.." muttered Robin.

"No place to get a good grip," said Batman, matter-of-factly, "Now be quiet, it's after dark, but there still may be people outside."

As such, in a sight like nobody had seen- Batman with his eyes narrowed and his blue-grey cape draped over him, and Robin, with his hands dopily in front of him and his white eyes wide, walked down a suburban neighborhood for blocks on end. Despite vastly varying levels of experience, both were way out of their element. When he took up the cape and cowl, Bruce never thought he'd be ducking behind bushes when a car came by.

After several minutes of walking, the two came by a house, burnt to the ground, surrounded by a number of men in Black cars.

"Is that it?" Asked Robin in a hushed whisper.

Batman nodded silently. He ran crouched across the street, form draped by his cape. Robin followed suit, soon getting behind a set of bushes.

"Are they supposed to be here?" whispered Robin.

Batman shook his head, but asked, "What would you do in this situation?" so quietly his lips barely moved.

Robin thought for a second, eyeing the nine men, not wanting to be too rushed, nor too slow. "I'd scope it out first," he began looking at Batman for a look of approval or disapproval, but he maintained a poker face, "Next- well, I'd get the licenses plates down, then put tracers on their vehicles. Only then would I try and take them down."

Batman nodded, doing exactly that. He went out into the street, body held low and tight, cape disguising his form, going around their vehicles.

Meanwhile, Robin observed the men. When his boss came back, he asked, "Batman, did the men who were with Tetch when you fought him at the storage yards dressed like the men at the Christmas Ball?"

"Yes," Batman looked over at the men around the house, "but these aren't."

"So.. does Tetch want them here? Because they aren't his men, and that-"

"Quiet, Robin, use few words. But yes, you're correct in your questioning.

"So what do you think?" said Robin, trying to be concise.

"I don't know," said Batman, still looking at the men on the other side of the bushes. Then, he turned to his partner, "Let's find out."

Robin smiled.

Soon, Batman was on the opposite side of the house from Robin, who was waiting his signal. Soon, the Bat jumped out from the bushes, flipping into the lamplight, landing with his cape spread across the dead grass.

 _That was probably the signal._

"It's the goddamn Batman!" Yelled a thug. "Shoot the bastard!" yelled another.

At this moment, when their heads were turned, Robin shot a line at the lamppost, securing the top, and launching himself up. He thrust his feet forward, swinging them into the back of the head of a thug with a machine pistol. Robin pulled himself up, halting his forward momentum, changing it to vertical, and then, one second and ten feet later, he released the line, dropping his feet flat on the face of the helpless goon.

"What the hell?" nasally yelled a thug to the left of them. He backed up to the charred house and fired a few shots, but, nervous to hit his friend, gave Robin the opportunity to back flip over these shots. The boy produced batarangs from his utility belt, flinging them at the gun, plugging the barrel and injuring the man's hand. Robin ran up to him, punching him in the face.

"Why you-" he lunged at Robin, who rolled between his feet effortlessly, attaching glue bombs to the man's stomach. They detonated when he was down, stunning him, and trapping him in a hunchbacked position with adhesive glop on his torso.

"Don't worry," quipped Robin, kicking the man square in the jaw, "It'll wash off fine in a few hours- can't be said about your ugly face though!"

Two gunshots snapped Robin back into it. He turned around, and, seeing that Batman had already taken down five men, and was working on the last two, threw a batarang at one's back. It didn't stab him, but provided enough distraction for Batman to gut punch him real hard, knocking him at least down, but likely out.

"What the hell- what the _hell_?" asked the final thug as the Dynamic Duo approached him, "you employ kids now Batman, is that right?" He swung his pistol towards Robin, "and you? Who the hell are you?"

Robin shot a line at the thug's gun, knocking it out of his hand, and embedding it in the side of a car, "I'm the sensation of 1990!" exclaimed he, shooting his secondary line into another car, flicking the switches to keep the lines in place, pulling himself back, "I'm Robin-" he lifted up his feet, launching himself towards the thug's chest, knocking him down off the sidewalk onto the street with a _thud_ \- "THE BOY WONDER!"

Robin landed on top of the thug, zipping the lines back into their grapple guns, grinning ear to ear.

"What the hell!?" repeated the thug, "you don't scare me, kid! L-look at you, you're dressed in red and green tights! I-I"

"You sound pretty scared," mocked Robin, stepping on his hand.

"O-OW! That hurts, damn you!"

" _And_ I just kicked your butt." Robin loomed over him on his left, and Batman at his right. He was definitely scared.

Batman looked like a shadow to the man, draped in his cape, standing in front of the pale yellow lamplight, obscuring it like a black hole, or a portal to hell. He lifted him up from the asphalt, "Why were you here?"

"N-no way, Bat! You ain't shit, you came here, all chummy with your little clown boy, and he's clearly human- so what are you? Your act don't work no more!"

Batman glared into the man's black eyes, "Your head is bleeding from when my _chummy friend_ smacked it into the pavement. Now, do you want me to make it worse, or do you still think we're just an act."

"Fine," said the man, his tall, strong physique quivering before the Bat, "I'll talk." Robin simply stood by, beaming.

"Good," said Batman in his deep, commanding tone, "I want to know who you work for, and why you're here."

"S-sure. We work for Falcone's mob, but a guy who works for him sent us here. His name's Dodgson."

"Dodgson?"

"Yeah, he- uh, he works for the boss. But I don't know why he sent us here."

Batman threw the man against a black van, pulling out a photo, "It this Dodgson?"

"I- uh, no, I've never seen him."

"You're lying," said Batman bluntly. Before a response came, he pinched the thug's lower neck, pulling at a sensitive nerve. He gasped, and after a few seconds, collapsed. The Bat threw his cape around himself, and walked away.

"Uh, Batman, do you know Dodgson?" asked Robin as the tall, caped man walked past him.

"In a way," said Batman. The boy began to follow. "What can you tell my about that punk's response?"

"He was lying, obviously. You have a picture of Dodgson- can I see?"

Batman led his sidekick down the road past dark houses, "Do you know who wrote Alice in Wonderland?"

"Tetch's inspiration? It was Lewis Carroll, right?"

"Right- but that was a pen name." They turned the corner, a few blocks down from where the Batmobile was hidden behind the wall, "his real name was Charles Dodgson. Not unlike a certain Charles Lewis."

"Charles Lewis?" asked Robin, "That was Tetch, ri-?"

Batman handed the photo to Robin. It showed Tetch.


	14. Purple Lights

I'm gonna start responding to reviews. That will go for my Spider-Man story too, when I start publishing it regularly. Also, for those who haven't noticed, all of the last 4 chapters have taken place on a specific calendar date (Winter Wonderland was on December 22, 1989, Half Past New Years and Dynamic Duo were on January 15, 1990, Sensation of 1990 was on January 19) I'd like to know if anyone feels strongly about how ambiguous I keep the date. I personally prefer unspecific dates.

Also, I'll specifically request advice for how to write Batman's detective skill, which I try to incorporate.

 _ **Chapter Fourteen: Purple Lights**_

 **Apartment 325, Terrio Heights, Amusement Mile, Gotham, Seven Oh-Six PM**

"Is anything here?" asked Batman, sitting on the totally blackened roof, hidden in the oppressive blackness of the building behind it, contrasted by the snippet of the neon lights from the Amusement Mile Ferris Wheel behind that.

"Yes, Batman. A collection of empty envelopes under the floorboards- no return address, or any address. Or dates." replied Robin, crouching over the long, rectangular home he had opened.

"Contents?"

'Nothing. Hmmm..." He flicked on a small flashlight, "This one got wet, I'm looking at it... Hey! Green stain!"

"Meaning?" asked Batman to his apprentice.

"There was green paper or something- maybe money- in this one. A few others have greenish wet spots, so unless they really like green sticky notes, these had money. Presumably in all of them, since there seems to be no difference between them."

"Good job.."

Robin shuffled through more papers, "He seems to have forgotten to take this note out. It says 'Same place, keep doing what your doing, -Lewis'."

"So he's using the pseudonym he used when working for Zucco."

"Seems so, boss. I guess we're done here, right?"

"Yes. Take the envelopes for analysis and pull out. Good work, Boy Wonder."

 _That was new._

* * *

 **The Perigrinator's Club, Gotham Village, North Gotham, Seven Twenty-Nine PM, January 1990**

Not five blocks, or six weeks, from the ruins of his former Nightclub, with the help of either illegally hidden money, mob assistance, or, most likely, both, Ronald Edwards had moved into a new residence, a neon-gothic monstrosity perched on a corner above the market roundabout in the affluent Gotham Village, which, despite the lack of poverty, still had as much crime in it as the darkest, dampest, dirtiest alleyways of Park Row. If it was a hub for criminal activity, as practically every Gotham Nightclub was, it certaintly wasn't ashamed of it, like My Alibi or the Tobacconist were- it's sign was purple and piercing, its doorway shielded in all ways but visibly by stark granite ionic pillars, supporting the round office where Edwards was come out of to meet his new guests on the new club's opening night.

Every night in preparation, several people would drop by, only to be shooed away. Edwards was spooked, by what he didn't know. Nor did Batman- to their knowledge. As far as anyone who knew him was concerned, Matches Malone was just another mysterious morally grey Gotham barhopper. Little did the construction company know that every night, Malone did an employee check on their men, and found that every night with an electrical wiring consultant, the same man happened to drop all other jobs and assist the Perigrinator's club- all seemingly without Edwards' knowledge. Of course, Batman and Robin had already solved all of this as much as they could have right now.

So now, Batman was no more- now stood Matches, waiting in a line for the new and improved Peregrinator- the master over the Peregrine, as if the fire in Edward's old club was done with his approval. But Bruce didn't bother himself with this as he approached the doorman- a tall man, his same height, 6'2", but, looking over him, it was clear his musculature was mainly cosmetic, and that he wasn't ready for a fight. No worries for the disguised vigilante.

"Name?" he asked.

"M. Malone," he said, stretching out the 'O' in his fake New Jersey accent, showing his fake driver's licence.

"Hmm.. Aight, you're awn da list, 'ave a nice night."

Malone walked in calmly, chin up and eyes confident, pressing a button in his earpiece, talking to Dick, who was costumed as Robin, hiding in the ceiling, "I'm in."

"I see, 'Matches'. So, what exactly am I supposed to be doing?"

"Looking for anyone suspicious, first of all, especially Tetch or Lynns. They-"

"Attacked the last club, I know."

Matches said nothing, walking through the room. It was wide, with most of the club being on two floors centered around a center triumvirate of a two-story bar, a round stage, and, in the middle, a checkered dance floor. He sat at the bar and ordered one champagne, non-alcoholic. Occasionally, as he looked up to the rafters, obscured by the hideous purple lights, and could see a slight yellow glint from the R on Robins chest or the inside of his cape or the white slits of his eyes.

After a bit, Ronald Edwards walked onto the stage in his signature cream-white suit and pressed salmon shirt, looking cool and regal above the deep, beaming lights of the club. He didn't even shine a spotlight onto himself- he made do with the simple stage lighting, and, being in the Gotham club scene for thirty years, he did it with professionalism and poise. He gave a colorfully-worded thanks to all his sponsors and patrons. Bruce, however, tuned him out, scanning the crowd. In the second floor, a private area, Carmine Falcone sat and smoked along half a dozen mobsters, calling a truce for one night only.

"I see him, Batman,"

"Matches,"

"Yes, Matches," continued Robin, "I _see_ him. He's right there."

"Which _one,"_ breathed Matches.

"Falcone. The big boss. And I think I see Zucco there too. And the one with the mole is Thorne, right?"

"tt"

"Yeah.. They're all there. We could take them out. Like that. Lickity-split. It'd be easy."

"Do you think I haven't tried that? I went in, figurative guns a-blazing, beating up the biggest Crime bosses in the city, and dropped them off at the GCPD. And what did that do?"

"Nothing," Robin sighed, repeating Bruce's axiom, "Fists get pleasure, deduction get results."

"Exactly, and have you figured out how to break into Edwards' office yet?" asked Matches.

"No..." muttered Robin.

"That's fine. Patience is a virtue.."

"Best learned in the heart of a child."

Dick's heart was ready for action. But his head told him to stay put, so he listened.

* * *

 **Eight Twenty-Two PM**

An hour had passed, and the crowd had become quite a bit larger, and far drunker. Matches probably had the healthiest meal here of anyone, save Robin, who had been slipped some bacon-wrapped morsels by his sympathetic mentor, against the wishes of their health regimen. The two munched on the savory snacks outside the door to the roof of the club, a chair backed against the door. Matches had his foot against a radiator, sunglasses still on at night, while Robin crouched on top of it, the boy's feet equal with the young man's shoulders.

"This is good," said Robin, only his white eyes really visible in the smoggy blackness of Gotham's rooftops.

"Indeed. You're doing well, kid." said Bruce- he had dropped Matches' accent.

"Don't.. don't call me kid, please, Bruce."

"Why not?"

"I.. I was 'kid' at Haly's. And I'm happy still being the Boy Wonder, but.. I can't keep everything. It's not right, Bruce."

"I get it, Dick. I get it."

They sat and ate.

"You know, after my parents' deaths, Alfred's dad worked with his son as my tudor. Always called me 'Old Chum'. It was funny, the old man seemed so much younger at heart than Alfred did."

"Well, Alfred's an old soul, as my mom would say."

"I know. God bless 'im."

They finished eating. Bruce removed the chair from the door to go back down, and Dick stood up to go back into the ceiling.

Before he went back in, Bruce heard his sidekick say something back, "Hey- Bruce?"

"What is it, Dick?"

"I like that. Old Chum." The boy's bright smile shone through the January night.

"You got it, Chum."

* * *

 **Eight Thirty PM**

Dick could see it from his rafters. The L-shape of a gun sticking out from the pocket of one of Zucco's goons' guns. This overweight bastard, wasting his life serving that even bigger bastard. Dick could have taken the gun easily, kicked the guy's butt, and killed Zucco like that. _L'appel du vide_.

He wouldn't, of course. Not only because he'd probably be shot by someone else, or because Zucco's place would just be filled by someone else, or even because Batman would be _so_ mad, but because it wasn't the right thing to do. Dick had come to realize this, not just because of Bruce's teaching, but because of his parents', which he had forgotten. Death didn't just come for some Flying Graysons- it very nearly took Dick in, making him as rotten as this city he now had to call home.

But 'had to call home' felt wrong. This was his home now. Bruce didn't just replace his parents, he saved him from something worse. His parents raised him, and his time at the orphanage taught him pain. Bruce was the natural continuation of his life. He wasn't going to replace anything, but make something new. Something better.

And, while he was dressed in a brightly colored costumes spying on mobsters from the rafters of a lavish nightclub, he felt like he was being better. His parents would be proud. And this city- those men down below, who keep it the monster it is- will have lost. The boy wonder wouldn't have it any other way.

Dick stretched and continued his patrol. Falcone and Zucco and their ilk weren't the only unsavory characters he had to keep his masked eyes on.

* * *

 **Nine PM**

Dick loved being Robin, but sometimes stakeouts like this, especially above all the ignorant partygoers, was unbearably boring. He had ID'd nealy everyone in the club and even went out to record license plates, and after that he even started noting who interracted with who, recording it using the light reflected off the sleek tables to see a little notebook he brought along just in case.

That was boring when he did it, and now he had nothing to do.

And he hated those damn lights.

* * *

 **Nine Ten PM**

Dick began playing over-the-phone tic-tac-toe with Alfred.

* * *

 **Nine Fifteen PM**

"Robin," patched in Matches, "Robin, are you there?"

Oh, Crap, how long has he been calling me?! "Yes, Bruce?" Play it cool, "Uh, I mean, Bat- Mat-ches… what is it, Matches?" So much for that.

Matches let out a sharp exhale, which could have been a sigh or a chuckle. Maybe Robin could have figured it out if he was using his normal voice, but Matches' thick north Jersey accent impression bled over to his expressions. Perhaps it was for the better. Robin didn't really want to know.

"There's some.. Suspicious characters outside. Take a look?"

"On it boss," came the boy's reply. Quick and simple. No further instructions came.

This was when Dick realized something that didn't entirely comfort him- he was afraid of Batman- or Bruce, of Matches, of whatever. As he climbed stealthily through the ventilation shaft, purple glow shining through the vents, the thought about this. Of course, Bruce didn't want him to be afraid- or so it seemed. Dick certainly trusted Bruce more than he trusted anyone he knew (although, after about a week of investigating Gotham's mob, even with Batman not letting him deal with all the 'grown-up' stuff, Dick had learned how untrustworthy people really are).

Did Bruce know Dick was afraid? It seemed likely, he dressed specifically to scare people, after all. But he had always acted the same around the boy. For someone who was such an excellent liar, Bruce could be impeccably consistent. And he didn't get mad at Dick for wanting to go out with him every night, even though the boy was such a novice. He even accepted Dick's costume choice, acknowledging that Robin shouldn't be a creature of the night.

He's doing this because he doesn't want me to turn out like him. Because he wants me to be better, thought Dick, and maybe even because he can learn from me… the boy wonder felt sympathy. Alfred always talked about how bright he always was, especially in Bruce's darkness. Now on the roof, the boy wonder looked at his outfit. Bright. Like a circus performer's

"We do what we do because we want people to see that they can be good- that they can be the best. And if you think you're the best, you should work to make everyone else better than you. You're fearless, Dickie, and I love you for that. Everyone else will too, because those people, they may be hurt, or going through a rough time, or not wanting to be here, but when we go out there, they see how good life can really be. Be that hope, Dick." His mother's words rang back to him. She wasn't great at pep talks, but he'd never forget that speech.

Dick's whole life had been about helping others, even more than Bruce's was. That thought didn't comfort him as much as he hoped it would, but it was more than good enough. If Dick needed Bruce, then Batman needed Robin.

And so, Robin, the Boy Wonder, peered down at the alley, ready for anything.

* * *

There were suspicious characters, all right. More than a few some had black duffel bags, which certainly didn't house anything nice, and a few had remotes and had exposed heads, but most were wearing hats. And masks- rabbits, pigs, mice.

Tetch, thought Robin, he's back. Some might have been terrified- after all, Hatter had reach of influence that was largely unknown (and the extent of which was wholly unknown), and had been more than willing to carry out violent attacks for his own ends, but all the boy wonder could think was finally.

Retreating out of their line of sight back up to the safety of the rooftop, Robin turned on his communicator, relaying the message, "Hey- uh, Matches, I have a code, uh, one-five in the back alley, about seven or eight of them, all armed, look like Tetch's"

"What's the point of code if you're gonna just say what's happening?" asked Bruce, back to his normal voice. He didn't sound mad, but it still hurt Dick, knowing he could've done better.

"I.. I'm sorry,"

"Don't be," came a response. As he walked towards the upstairs exit, Bruce didn't even think that the young, hopeful boy could be conflicted, "I'm coming up. Get the batsuit from the car."

Dick jumped down to the alley on the other side, even deeper in the stone and steel maze that made up many of Gotham's back alleys. In them, under a midnight-grey-brown tarp, was the hidden car- the Batmobile. Dick went to the car's back, where, on either side of the jet engine, were insulated trunks. In the left one, the one thankfully not against the wall (as was the case a few nights ago, that was embarrassing), was a dark grey-blue duffel bag, one similar in color to the Batsuit's cape and chestplate, which it held inside. Dick grabbed it, scaled the fire escape, and tossed the bag on the ground. Up there already was Bruce, already undressed in the cold air.

"How can you handle that?" asked Robin, his breath forming clouds.

Bruce, now down to his athletic undershirt and thermal pants, just shrugged, giving a slight grin. He then opened the bag and took out his suit. He put on the pants first, and then fastened them in place by putting on his shirt, which had trunks attached, which also served as extra groin protection. He pulled his arms through the sleeves and tightened the seams using a clever system of elastic on the armor of his chest, which he then hid by fastening it to the sides of the dark grey cloth of his torso. He put on the boots and the gloves as a normal person would, and then fastened his cape to the chest and shoulder armor pads. Finally, he put on the cowl, made of cloth somewhat stiffened by state-of-the-art armor padding between its layers.

The dark grays and blues of the costume blended into the January night sky, except for the gold Bat-symbol.

"Ready?" asked Batman.

"Ready," said Robin. The sidekick smiled while his mentor scowled, both showing in their own ways that they were ready for a fight.

They dropped in the intersection of the alley where the Batmobile was and the alley where the thugs were, and wordlessly snook up on a fat one with a bald head and a remote as he got out of the back of a grey-green van.

Batman took out his knees from under him, and pulled the man back with his head choked under the Bat's arm, but the thug was stronger than he seemed. He pressed something in his pocket which caused all the thugs phones to ring. Another fat, bald one turned around.

"The Bat has arrived!," he yelled, "Show him our Surprise!"

The first bald one got out of the headlock and pressed a button on his controller, but before he could do anything else, Robin tripped him.

"What the- so the Bat does have a kid-" both Robin and Batman punched him in the jaw, knocking him off his feet and into the back of the van, out cold. Then came the machine guns.

The Dynamic Duo ducked into the back of the van, easily avoiding any of the panicked gunfire. "Ah," sighed Robin, "so much for stealth." He shrugged, not minding the firefight?

"The bald one was rhyming... just like Tetch did." Muttered Batman.

"Yeah, like we didn't need more of a reason to think they were working together," responded Robin, who noticed the men were trying to get in through the front of the van. Looking out the bullet-shattered windshield, he could see the second bald man. Throwing a few smoke pellets, he began to go up into the front seats, now clear of gunfire, "Hey, Batman, can you get the gun goons?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Nice," grinned the boy, kick-flipping through the windshield onto the hood of the van, "You took Tweedledee, I'll take Tweedle- _dum_ ," he flew at his foe.

"Hey, how do you know our na-" Tweedledum's sentence was cut off short by Robin's green boot. The boy wonder got a few blows in, but the man's fat and muscle (but definitely more fat) absorbed them. He pulled a switchblade. Robin had to think harder.

All around him, Batman was fighting all the gunmen, easily juggling multiple opponents. Safely out of their way, Robin ran around, climbing on dumpsters and the van, dodging Tweedledum's charges like a small matador, tiring him out. Eventually, the tireless boy climbed onto the dumpster with one lid open, standing on top to wait for the exhausted man try and get him. When he came up, Robin climbed up to an air conditioner unit on the window of the next building, elegantly swinging his leg up to meet his fingers holding onto the top of the white rusted box. Following him up, Tweedledum stood on top of the bucking black plastic lid of dumpster, grinning like a madman, thinking he'd ended Batman's sidekick's career shortly.

Robin smiled even wider. He swiftly got down, got his hand, and used it to spin-kick Tweedledum in the back of the skull, knocking him off balance. He then bounced off of his bald head, flipped to another dumpster, and then rocketed off of that, elbowing the man in the small of the back, shoving him into the open dumpster, smacking his forehead into the green metal rim, knocking him out. Just to be safe, Dick flipped up to the open lid of the dumpster, landing precariously on its end. His weight tipped the lid, and so he jumped off before it slammed shut on top of the defeated goon.

Just then, Batman finished slamming a mind-controlled thug's tophatted head into the opposite wall, letting him collapse among the other defeated goons.

"Jeez, Batman, you're a lot better at this than I am." Marvelled Robin, this being his biggest fight yet.

"Well, you _did_ take out their leader," said Batman with a hint of what? Pride? Humor? Both? "And a big part of it is just that I scare them, and the second guess yourself. Scaring criminals is my job."

Dick nodded, knowing his bright colors and equally bright visage were meant to calm the victims of crimes, not fight the perpetrators. "After all, both jobs are needed to help the people, right?"

"No need to ask rhetorical questions, chum. Now, we're going in," Batman rushed through the bullet-ridden glass side door of the club, entering the mess of screaming and gunshots.

Robin ran through right behind his mentor, crouching at the end of the small, dark hallway, right before the purple lights could shine on their boots.

"I count sixteen men, six with controllers, eight mind controlled," muttered Batman.

Robin wordlessly jumped on the right wall, then up on the left, then into the ceiling, climbing around to get a better view, "Found four more by the front, one controller, three hat dudes," he said over the comm. The room finally grew quiet- the initial violence was over. Their goal didn't seem to be mass death, as the vast majority of people were alive, if in mortal terror. The attackers, however, seemed fine, and weren't going to just stop. Now was the vigilante's time to move, as the gunmen seemed to be scoping out the club before they made their next move. Dick too scoped out the location, his vantage point in the ceiling now much less boring, "Also there's some in the back- five hats, one controller."

"Distract," replied Batman, "then help," the Dark Knight had no time for complex sentences. An eleven year old boy, Dick was happy this of course.

Robin dropped electric pellets onto the guns of the four by the front, magnetically attaching and sabotaging them, and then took another one, set its voltage to max, and threw it at the stage lights. They sparked and went out, allowing Batman to slip into the shadows on the floor, along with causing all the gunmen to stare at the sparking part of the ceiling. Robin sunk futher back into the rafters, now scoping out the dozens of civilians. There were multiple bullet-wounded people bleeding badly on the floor. Robin hoped they were all alive, and wished them a speedy recovery. He tried not to let it get to his young mind.

He and Batman kept to the shadows. Every so often, one would cut some wires (Dick unplugged them, mindful of property damage) to get the thugs even more in the dark, until the whole room was pitch black, and they began using flashlights, making their positions very obvious. Dick was having a great time.

Every minute or so, Dick heard the thud of a man's head hitting the floor as Batman took him out. At a similar rate, he helped people sneak behind the couches to find a safe place away from the action, but none saw that he was a costumed vigilante.

Suddenly, a shout came, "LIGHTS ON ME, I'VE CORNERED THE BAT!"

Neither Batman nor Robin panicked. Accepting that they had lost stealth, they'd rely on confusion. Batman threw a smoke bomb down, and ducked from ensuing gunfire. Dick saw a group of people huddled behind a couch dangerously close to the bar, which was glasses that would hurt if broken. He too threw down smoke bombs, three in front of the couch, and got down among the people as bullets flew above them.

"It's Batman!" squealed a panicked middle-aged woman, scooting back, "get away from us!"

"What the hell?" asked a few others.

"That's not Batman," said a graying man, "who the hell are you? How _old_ are you?"

"I'm Robin!" said the boy, his cheer contrasting their shock and fear, "I'm getting you out, come on!"

On their hands and knees, bullets still flying, the small group went behind the bar, avoiding broken glass, to the group by the other couches Robin and amassed.

"Wait, the person who brought us hear was _this kid_?!" Asked a young man who he helped earlier.

"Yes, I'm Robin!"

"Robin who?"

"The- the Boy Wonder! Now, come one, to the kitchens. The cops should be here by now!"

"I trust him, for what it's worth," breathed the middle-aged woman from earlier.

"Why? He could just be insane- I mean see what he's wearing?"

"I'm sure Batman never got this kinda crap," said Dick as he crawled off, most people following. Soon, the naysayers came too.

The kitchen lights were still white and blinding, and it seemed the cooks had all ran off. Yelling thugs could be heard.

"Dammit! God fucking Dammit, we should've waited for them to get Lynns-" his spiel was cut off by a fist.

Once the fighting and gunshots begin to die down as Batman took more and more out, the people, about ten in number, stood up.

Suddenly, two men in hats burst in, led by a man with a controller. All had machine guns.

"Well well, hostages. Boys, guard," he said, pressing what was apparently the 'guard' command for the simpleton goons.

Robin ran up to punch the one in charge, but it seemed his blow wasn't strong enough. This guy was huge, muscular, and seemed far more finessed than Tweedledum. "Y-you have a very strong jaw, sir," chuckled Robin as he caressed his gloved wrist.

The boss laughed as he pointed a rifle at Robin's forehead.

This had all gone downhill so fast, but Robin tried to hide his fear. The man just kept laughing.

"The Bat's kid, huh? Two years, I never knew he had one of those. Can't wait to kill you. Then him. And then-"

A _zip_ sound went through the air, and the man winced as the grapple gun cut into his side. Most of it, however, was lodged in his thick jacket. Batman had come to the rescue.

"Do _not_ threaten Robin," growled Batman, stomping on the man's face.

Robin quickly threw two shock pellets, one at each man's hat. They disarmed the mind control devices, but not their programming. They didn't stay mindless killing machines though, as Batman soon slammed one to the ground, and Robin jumped up onto the counter to kick the other in his masked face.

Standing on the counter, Robin brushed off his palms. The police could be heard entering the front door.

Batman stood back up. He had cuts and bullet holes in his outfit, but he was mostly fine. Robin, however, was untouched. "Good work, partner," the Bat said, causing the boy to smile.

"Robin.. the boy wonder.." marveled a man as he got up from the floor. The others followed suit. One took out an expensive camera and took a photo of the beaming sidekick. A few others did the same.

"Come on, Robin," said Batman, returning to his gruff tone, "No need to showboat. They're safe, we have to leave now."

They turned around and left.

"Wait," said a young woman, following them to the kitchens back door, "I- Thank you."

The other people nodded in agreement, "Thank you, Batman and Robin."


	15. Who Protects the Protectors

Remember to review and give any advice you can. I'm gonna try to shorten the chapter lengths, if you want. Hope you enjoy March Hare

 _ **Chapter Fifteen: Who Protects the Protectors?**_

 **The Perigrinator's Club, Gotham Village, North Gotham, Nine Fourty-One PM, January 1990**

As the police breached, Batman and Robin slipped away out of the plastic door to the kitchens, into the alleyway opposite to the one were the gunmens' vans were parked. As they stepped out, the quiet whispers of thankful but still shell-shocked civilians gave way abruptly to the flashing of red and blue police lights, their purple not as obnoxious as the clubs. Multiple news stations had vans and pretty reporters out to cover the story, something Batman instinctively wanted to avoid.

"Batman," said the boy as they turned around to walk down to where the Batmobile was, "I heard a thug say something about Lynns, what do you make of that?"

"Lynns is still in a cell at GCPD, awaiting trial in a solitary cell, but judging by the resources here, I doubt that breaking him out is out of their picture. Did you see what was in the van's passenger seat?"

"I- No, Batman?"

"You have much to learn, Robin," said the Bat pleasantly, "They were maps, maps of the GCPD and surrounding buildings. I didn't think too much of it then- my mistake- but with the mention of Lynns, now it's for sure."

"And what if this was Tetch's big endgame all along?"

"If it was, then his months of gaining influence, money, and territory were useless when all he needed was a book of matches and a few dozen mooks to take out two clubs. Even if it was, he won't just give up after we stopped him."

"Good thinking," mused the boy wonder, hoping to soon emulate the detective's thought process.

"Now stop right there," came a voice from behind them, at the entry to the alley. Robin turned in shock, not knowing who the voice belonged to, but Batman simply sighed and turned.

"Well, I figure it's time for you two to meet," he said, walking towards the man. Robin followed. "Lieutenant, meet my new partner, Robin," he continued, pausing as Robin caught up, finally getting a good look at his face- a mustached man with graying red hair and thick glasses, "And Robin, meet Lt. Jim Gordon, my go-to man on the police force."

"Working with kids now?" asked Gordon, not knowing what to say. He didn't seem happy.

"Helping kids, now. And I'm very selective. Robin is very highly trained."

"And I'm having a great time," said the boy, enthusiastically shaking the concerned man's hand.

"Helping them do what?"

"Helping them be better than I was. Than.. than I am," said Batman, not so much as looking at his sidekick.

Gordon took of his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, conflicted. It was entirely due to his influence that there wasn't a city-wide manhunt with shoot to kill orders for Batman (at least, there hadn't been since he took out Maroni, which, as Gordon would put it, "scared the living shit out of Loeb"). But here he was, with a damn ten ten year old! The Lieutenant didn't want to offend the vigilante who was slowly becoming his friend, but still felt horribly irresponsible.

"Kid," he asked, "do you really need this kinda life? This work isn't good for someone your age."

"I don't need anything, sir. But plenty of people do, I've known that since before I met- the, uh, opportunity to even became Robin," he replied, correcting himself, not wanting to confirm if he really was Batman's son or not, or even if he'd known him for that long.

The Lieutenant sighed, but put his glasses back on, "Fine, I'm not dying on this hill. Did you find anything, in there?"

"A thug said they should've waited to get Lynns. And not like they wanted to get him. Like they could and were going to."

"And Lynns is at GCPD- goddamn- uh, sorry kid- are they crazy enough to stage an assault on the police's own headquarters?"

"I don't know how crazy Tetch is."

" _Mad_ ," interjected Robin, "You know, like the Mad Hatter? With the talks of hats and tea parties and Wonderland.."

"Smart kid," breathed Gordon, licking his cold lips, "Call him that, it's not proper to call him Jervis Tetch when your link to his ID is tenuous at best."

"See, Batman? He's Mad Hatter, 100%. Mr. Gordon, I like you," the Lieutenant chuckled. "Can we call it the Batmobile now?"

"I'm not calling my car the Batmobile," Batman's uncharacteristic bickering, even in monotone, made Gordon stifle a laugh.

"Sir, I've brought the Batmobile around by remote, and I have a route to GCPD up and ready," came Alfred over the comm, causing Robin to crack up in laughter. Batman just shook his head.

Suddenly, a shout could be heard, "Batman! It's Batman!' Vicki Vale, a pretty young reporter for the Gotham Gazette, came running up to Batman and Robin.

"Now see what you've done?" said Gordon jokingly, "It's okay, you slip off, I'll keep 'em busy."

"Nope," grinned Robin, "Batmobile's this way, remember?" The Boy Wonder ran into the crowd to meet reporters.

* * *

 **Ezekiel Street, Burnley District, North Gotham, Nine Fourty-Nine PM**

The cracked asphalt of Gotham's old streets (but not its oldest) rumbled under the Batmobile's tires.

"I know you love having fun," said Batman, "but that was not appropriate."

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Robin felt very small in the large seat.

"Show you're sorry by not doing that again, okay?"

"Okay, Batman," he said, remembering he was still technically in the field, "Just get the car there, fast."

Silence ensued. It wasn't awkward, but it was sure uncomfortable.

"Robin- if you want to, you can call it the Batmobile."

Dick was reassured by this. He wasn't a disappointment. He didn't know what to say, but he didn't have to- not if they were really a team.

* * *

 **Brubaker Building, Burnley , North Gotham, Ten Oh-Eight PM**

March Hare had every last map of the GCPD HQ, surrounding buildings, and damned sewer system in front of her and her goons, sprawled out haphazardly on the door to the roof of the Brubaker Building, across the street from the front entrance of the monolith, standing proudly in spite of the corruption that filled it. How she hated that place.

She wouldn't have to hate it any more if Hatter's plan goes right. But Wonderland would have to wait, she was living in the now, and had to play her part with expert precision. And she would be precise.

"Mad as a March hare I may be, but I'm always precise," she whispered to the wall, brushing off her white frilly shirt and opulent gold stock tie, "I'm even pristine in my dress- oh, I should've introduced myself with my dress- the brown trenchcoat kind of ruins it, don't you think? All fancy and Victorian, and some downright sexy fishnets and white high heels- oh, I hope they aren't dirtied by the snow. But no matter! I may be a relevant part of the story eventually, or at least a recurring character," she stretched her back and arms, "But I hope the writer doesn't forget about me after this chapter. I hope he isn't the kind of chap who'd just ignore publishing the next part of his story for months on end."

"Uh- boss, are we going now?" Asked a thug, peaking his head into the stairwell.

"What? Oh, yes, of course. The beautiful woman began to walk up the single flight of stairs where she was monologuing. It was already warmer down there, but she couldn't just abandon her men out in the cold- she had to be with them, as a strong and wonderful leader." She said, fixing her blonde hair as she moved.

"Is she doing that thing where she addresses the audience again?" asked a thug.

"You mean being a fucking nut who thinks she's in a story book? Yeah," said another one crudely, smoking a cigarette.

"Now now," rang March Hare, coming up behind them, "We're in a children's story, we use _appropriate language,_ right?:

"Right, March Harriet," responded the chorus.

"Wait, aren't we rated T for Teens?"

"Dude," the thug who checked on her bumped the smoking one's arm, "I thought she was gonna get pissed at you for not accepting that our life is a work of fiction. Last guy who called her insane she stabbed a dozen times, saying it was the author's fault, not hers."

"Christ, really?" asked the second thug, while the smoking one looked genuinely scarred.

"Yeah, she also said, as he bled out, that his death wasn't even a scene, and that the audience only knew about it because we'll talk about it later."

"Well, aren't we talking about it right now?" asked the second.

"Yeah, kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy," continued the smoking third, "you're bad at gossip."

The first shook his head, "Either way, she doesn't give a damn about us."

"Course not, even said that we aren't even named by the author, just called 'thug' with a short description," said the thug with the cigarette.

"Sounds like lazy writing."

"Yeah- agh, you know what, let's just go over the plan for breaking in. And remember boys, no mind controlled punks to back us up tonight. It's just you, your boys, and your guns. And this is the godda- uh, bander.. blasted.. police station! So be careful," he said, stepping on the old snow as they walked across the roof.

"You're just changing the subject."

* * *

 **GCPD HQ, Burnley, North Gotham, Ten Twenty PM**

Young, tall, blond, and eager to please, Stan Kitch always looked good in his blue GCPD uniform, but the job which he had just gotten last month had taken its toll. He was tired, and had worked triple duty the whole week. Tonight, he was finally succumbing to the stereotype, and eating a dinner of coffee and donuts.

"Here you go, Stan 'ol boy," he chuckled to himself, alone on the blue couch in the grey-tiled employee's lounge on the station's seventh floor. He heard some _thud_ s outside, but didn't pay them any heed. Some people were around him, but none he wanted to talk to. He'd rather just have his donuts.

He brought the glazed delight up to his chapped lips, when suddenly,

 ** _B O O_ M**

Stan was thrown against the wall by the force of an explosion, nearly knocking him out, and definitely singing his eyebrows off. The couch was on its back, and his head was spinning. With another _thud_ , a person landed in what used to be the middle of a carpet.

"Wh-what the hell," said Josie MacDonald, a short, fit black woman and another new officer, pulling out her service pistol, "You can't just break into the GCPD, you maniacs!"

March Hare flicked her bunny ears and whipped out her own pistol- a finely decorated revolver, "Oh, dear readers, you may not know, but I stole this pistol from Ronald Edwards himself, after we burned down his first hideway!"

"What?" asked Kitch, pulling his pistol too, "What the hell are our readers? And put your hands up!"

"Oh, you wouldn't understand, officer," she laughed as four armed men dropped in beside her. From the hole in the wall, it could be seen that the intruders had fired zip lines into the side of the buildings. To the shock of both her men and the two officers, she threw her revolver on the ground and put her hands up.

"I- Boss, what the hell are you doing?" snapped one of the gunmen, backing up in fear.

"Being smart, put 'em up too," said MacDonald with relief, flipping her black, braided hair.

"Oh, am I now?" laughed March Hare, "oh, but what these poor policemen don't know, half of my men got onto the roof ten minutes ago! The unfortunate officers have already lost!" she chuckled to herself.

"Uh- boss- I think they can hear you," questioned a gunman, but he too obeyed and put his rifle down.

MacDonald walked over slowly, darting her gun between the four intruders. Kitch followed close behind, stepping carefully of the damaged floor. Neither expected their night to go like this.

"Hear what?" asked McDonald, the business end of her pistol right at the bridge of the Hare's nose.

"Oh, oh!" screamed the Hare, nearly causing MacDonald to pull the trigger, "oh, our hour has hurried here, and it looks like your tea has taken a tumble, it's been spilled one floors!"

"Oh, shut the hell up, lunatic," grumbled MacDonald throatily. Kitch pulled out the cuffs.

"Foolish female, forgetting floors!" Raved the Hare, "Floors, not a fine floor, but a few floors? Five floors up, coming five floors down- finally, it's here!"

"What-" she and Kitch looked over their shoulders. They knew that the rec room was right under the cell maintenance area, a mostly off-limits area- but clearly someone had gotten in, and poured March Hare's 'tea' down a few floors. Bubbling acid was melting the ceiling, and forming a sinking pool in the floor.

While they had their backs turned, the Hare snatched back her revolver. While MacDonald was watching the floor tiles sink below, Kitch noticed Hare's quick action, and pushed MacDonald out of the way. Hare missed them both, and so both kept running, but Hare had more bullets in her cylinder. As the other men picked up their guns, the two officers ducked behind a smoldering couch, and carelessly shot at them several times. She was eerily casual.

* * *

Eight floors below, Batman and Robin exited the Batmobile.

"Holy.." muttered an onlooker, not even noticing the famous vigilante beside her.

"Holey building, Batman!" grinned Robin, "get it?"

"There could be people dead in there."

"Right. Shutting up now."

The two grappled up to the hole in the building, stepping lightly on the explosion-wrecked floor.

"Careful Robin," said Batman, "could be compromised." His sidekick simply nodded, and both wend in.

"Help- we need help."

The Dynamic Duo came over to find Kitch and MacDonald. Kitch's right shoulder was grazed, but his bleeding wasn't too bad. MacDonald, on the other hand, was shot right in the back, and was bleeding badly.

Batman looked behind him, seeing the acid-degraded floor, "What happened here?"

"Four punks broke in- leader was.. a woman in bunny ears.. pretended to surrender, but their friends are upstairs. Poured acid from the maintenance rooms. Shot Josie and I. I... think they know the blueprints. Went upstairs," breathed Kitch shallowly.

"It's okay, we'eve got you, Robin, grab her, I've got him," commanded Batman. The two carried the officers into the stairwell, attached their grapples, and rappelled down. They dropped them off at the first floor, where emergency medical was already there, and without stopping to explain or even get a thank you, shot back up.

"So, Batman, where is Lynns' holding cell?" asked Robin.

"Tenth floor," said Batman, walking up the stairs from floor eight, and then breaking into a jog. He could go up three stairs at once. Robin had to sprint.

When they got there, it was already chaos. Blood was on the floor- whoever it belonged to looked to have been dragged off already- alarms were going off, ceiling lights had been smashed, and all cells were, of course, open.

Batman looked up, and Robin immediately understood what he wanted, "Hey, I can help- boost me up!" Batman looked at him, somewhat confused, but did it, boosting his partner by interlocking his fingers, giving Robin a platform to spring up on. The boy flipped in the air, and managed to grab a pipe on the side of the stairs, two stories above. He pulled himself up for a quick glance, and then dropped down, and then again to where he started. "Nope, sorry Batman, we've got a full-scale prison riot on our hands."

With a simple nod, Batman motioned them inside. They walked through the hallways, the only people visible being unconscious (well, hopefully unconscious) officers.

"How did you know what I wanted?" asked Batman in a whisper.

"Lucky guess. We're a good team." Robin replied. Batman nodded, _almost_ smiling, but then held Robin back, and pointed to his cowled ear. Beyond them, voices could be heard, talking about.. freedom.. revenge.. wonders.. guns.

Guns clicked, and Batman looked at Robin and Robin looked at Batman. Batman climbed into the ceiling, which was missing a few tiles, while Robin went into the ventilation.

Three guards passed, all of which got an electric pellet to the collar. Before they could turn the next corner, they were unconscious, a small scorch mark on each of their necks.

"Batman- they have guns- and not ones used in a police station."

"I know. They brought their own in- question is, how many?" Batman grabbed their guns, "Robin, keep watch," as the boy went up into the ceiling, his teacher examined the guns, cataloging every thought on them that crossed his mind, _New guns- polished and clean. Seem to be.. oil-processed carbon fibers, this years model... oh, they still have ordered stickers. Batch.. numbers here. 10 of 25. Twenty five guns ordered? And that's just of this make and model- who knows how many handguns, or shotguns, or grenade launchers.._ He jumped onto a pipe in the ceiling, pulling himself up to his partner. "It's gonna be a long night, Robin."

* * *

A thug walked down the GCPD's tall, grandiose Bullpen. Though he may have been wearing an inmate's uniform, he was running this damn place. He felt pretty good- that is, until he got his teeth kicked in by Batman's black boot.

"One thug down, like five or six to go," grinned Robin, speaking in a hushed whisper, then running into the shadows, cape behind him. He knew that his bright red colors wouldn't blend in to the drab shades of dark gray that went throughout the building, and he was certain that these thugs took hostages. It was no time to have fun.

His first order of business was to kill the lights. While some were out- shot at, and hanging from the ceiling with sparks. While Batman could probably operate in the dark corners of the room, Robin could not, and as such, he had to get rid of all remaining lights. That was easy enough, with a bit of work and intelligence.

He found an untripped alarm, a gold mine for him. He smashed it and looked at the ceiling- the first alarms to turn on were to the left of the room. _So that's where the circuits are wired from_.

"Hey, what the hell is that! Find out!" Yelled one of the gunmen, coughing on his cigarette. Robin ignored him, heading to the wall.

"No, don't!" came another, "This is a big-ass building, and who knows where that was tripped. The outside is _swarming_ with cops, and Batman's probably dealing with all the shit upstairs! So don't scatter yourselves. We're smarter than him."

"Smarter than Batman, huh?" chuckled the red-clad vigilante, "I don't think you're even smarter than me- now, where were we?" he looked at the wall where he determined the light circuits were based, "Break into a wall panel? Snip some wires? Detonate an electrical charge?" He shuffled down the wall, his fingertips against it. "Ah-ha!" he whispered, and executed his plan to turn off the lights, flicking a light switch. Click.

"Creative problem solving, Dick Grayson. A light switch," he turned on his domino mask's night vision lenses and cracked his neck, "You're a rare genius."

The rush of Batman's cape told Robin to get to work. He slid on the floor under thug's legs. He pulled some down to the floor with a grapple line. He slammed a few's heads into the nearest wall. A stressful time for the rookie vigilante, but a successful one.

By the time the lights turned back on, not a single gunman was conscious.

"How'd you turn off the lights?" asked Batman.

"Lightswitch. Ever hear of them?"

Batman may have replied to the joke, but he never got the chance, since the lights went back on, a dozen men surrounded Batman, and March Hare slow clapped.

"Batman! Dark Knight! Other name I have to use cyclically so that the audience doesn't think the way we refer to you is repetitive! How are you?"

Batman looked around, crouching to ready himself for a fight, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Why, I'm March Hare-!" she exclaimed, throwing off her trenchcoat to show off her revealing outfit, "And I have the honor of being our author's story device to advance your plot! Now, do you know why I'm here?"

"To.. advance the plot?" asked Robin, exceedingly confused about what this obvious nutcase was getting at.

"No, no, I'm here to tell you where your story will end- and that is with _Wonderland_!"

"You're talking about Tetch's plan. It won't work. Tell him he'll lose. Badly," growled the Bat.

"The _Hatter_ planned for everything- but I think you're uninvited to the tea party- after all, you're one of the reasons we have to _have_ it!"

"I know why Tetch- Hatter- is doing this. I know about his family and the mob. I want to stop them too-" he was interrupted by Hare slamming the butt of her gun against his face. Batman's hand moved to it as fast as he could.

"No! You're all about order, you've never partied! You'll die alone and afraid- at least we will die happy! Which side do you want?!" rambled Hare.

"I'll be on the side of sanity, thank you. And next time you hit me with a gun, check it."

Hare obeyed, and saw, to her surprise, a smoke pellet. It sparkled and crackled, and then exploded in a cloud of smoke. Hare and the guards fell back. Knowing that the gunmen wouldn't shoot at their boss, the Dynamic Duo rushed past her, escaping through the smoke.

"Dammit!" Yelled March Hare, turning around an firing her gun, it going right in between Batman and Robin. While the Bat jumped to the left, the boy went to the right- and when the smoke cleared, each realized their mistake.

"Batman! Crap, I'm sorry- I- !" stammered Robin.

"Don't," maintained Batman, nodding firmly. Robin nodded back, and watched Batman point to himself, then the gunmen, and then to Robin, and to the ceiling. _Batman gets these loony tunes, Robin gets back to searching the place_. Easy.

Before the goons could so much as get a shot off, Robin was already in the upper level, running through the ruined cell blocks. He caught quick looks at the cells- most were just broken out of, but then he came across something unusual- a cell that was scorched black. Without even thinking, he did just what Batman taught him, and started to investigate. The source of the fire couldn't be found- he was looking for a gas tank, or a Molotov cocktail's shattered remains, but instead found, what? Goop?

Robin facepalmed, _of course, detective boy. The fire was from a plastic gas can- one that was totally melted. But what's a plastic gas can doing all the way up here? Why this cell?_ He kept looking around, and then realized something- _footprints!_ His footprints had brushed off the ash, and new footprints were uncovered. Robin looked closely- the footprints were muddy, and not prison slippers. Possibly the mercenaries'? But similar footprints where also above the ash.

"Well, that just brings me back to the beginning- why this cell?" whispered Robin to himself- but then he realized something else was burned. It seemed to be.. an inmate's slippers, placed neatly in the corner. Why would they go barefoot? Unless- "Lynns!" gasped Robin, realizing who this cells' occupant was.

"Was that an invite?" came a raspy voice.

"Lynns!" yelled Robin, ready to hide behind a cot in case of gunfire.

"No need to jump away- heh, yeah, you aren't as good a fighter as the Bat. But you know what you do have as good as?" Lynns smiled, stepping into the light, revealing what looked like a huge, metal backpack he was wearing. "A name. And a nice gimmick. Is it more bird Robin or Robin Hood?"

Robin looked back. No Batman to help now.

"Don't answer that- I want my name to be your last words, be it Lynns, or my new one-" he pulled a cord on his straps, and the backback unfurled into a winged jetpack, "Call me Firefly." He whipped out a trigger, pushing its button.

 **BOOM**

The wall behind him, along with several cells, blew up, falling onto the street bellow.

Robin looked behind him- no Batman. But he was fine- he'd trained, he had years of experience with fire and acrobatics- even if the goal was never to kill him, fire was still fire. He whipped out his batarangs in a show of confidence, "Firefly!" he screamed, sounding very much like a young child, but he couldn't pay attention to that, "You'll never get away with this!"

"Get away?" chuckled Lynns raspily.

"Yeah! And you're NOT allowed to say you already have!"

"Oh, don't worry- Wonderland will never get away. We're staying right here, in Gotham, _forever_." He put his feet on the jetpack's stirrups, turning it on as he flew out of the building, "HEAR THAT GOTHAM? GOTHAM WILL BE OURS- JOIN US OR NOT, GOTHAM WILL BE FREE!"

Robin charged, firing a line at Firefly, stopping him from flying off.

"Let go, little boy! You don't understand what we're getting at!" Flames shot at the line, not doing anything to the fireproof material. However, his jetpack's force was stronger than Robin's desperate attempts to hang on to the charred floor, and he got away as Robin's boots slipped from under him.

"Agh! No!" Robin fell, grabbing at kicking at the floor as he slid out of the hole in the building. He caught himself before he began to drop, barely hanging on to charred metal.

He hung there, tired. A few moments later, as he tried to pull himself up, he felt a hand pull him up- Batman.

"Robin, are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah- c'mon, let's go get-"

"No, Robin. We still have business here."

"But-"

"Lynns is too far ahead to be pursued. It may be less exciting, but what he have to do here is more important, for now. Now c'mon, chum, we have a long night ahead."


	16. Locks and Lockdowns

_**Chapter 16: Locks and Lockdowns**_

 **Wayne Manor, Kane County, Twelve Thirty-Nine AM, January 1990**

Dick stumbled up the stairs from the Batmobile's turnstile, collapsing at Alfred's feet in front of the computer system.

"Do I have to walk all the way upstairs to sleep? I can do it here.."

"If you want to smell awful tomorrow morning and have serious back problems, I suppose you may, Master Richard. Now get up."

* * *

 **Wayne Manor, Kane County,** **Six Forty-Nine AM**

"Master Richard, you must get up!" exclaimed Alfred for what could have been the first time or the tenth, Dick had no clue, his face shoved in to the pillow, trying to compensate for the removal of his covers, "My lord, Dick, I know it wasn't your fault that you stayed up past one in the morning, but that doesn't change the fact that you need to go to school today. Maybe you ought to consider not going on patrol tonight, so you can finally get a good night's rest.

"N-no," said Dick, still lulling into sleep, "I'm going on patrol tonight."

"Have you gotten a good night's sleep in a week, Master Dick?"

"Yes, Alfred, I have. I feel fine, just a bit more sleep-"

"If you're late for school, you don't leave the cave this evening. I do think that's a fair rule, don't you?"

"Fine," grumbled Dick, rolling out of bed.

"Excellent. Wear warm clothes, it's forecasted to snow today. I have Chia seed and egg for breakfast downstairs. You can make your lunch too, if you don't want another cucumber sandwich."

* * *

 **Brentwood Academy, Uptown Gotham, Seven Fifty-One AM**

Dick got out of the Rolls Royce without a lunchbox, but with his khakis pockets filled with cash. He'd try his luck with a school burger.

He walked down the long concrete sidewalk, freshly shoveled, with snow on the grass. He was slightly later than usual, and as such his friends weren't there, but Dick wasn't in the mood to get angry. The chilled air only woke him up skin-deep. He decided he'd use the elevator to get upstairs, maybe nap on the way up.

Today, it seemed everybody wanted to take the elevator. There was a line in front of it, nearly wrapping around the way to the wide stairway that it was to the left of. Perhaps those in line had used Dick's same logic. He did some quick calculations, and concluded that the trek up the stairway would leave him more time to sleep in the classroom than having to be awake in the slow moving line would. He was irritated when he saw students getting out on the second floor elevator. That felt wasteful.

Dick made it upstairs fine, and went into his homeroom class. The bell rang right as he crossed the threshold.

"Almost late there, Dick," smiled Mrs. Flynn. How could she be so awake? As he sat down and yawned, she asked, "Long night, huh?"

"Wh-wha, yeah," Dick sat up, and stretched his back with a pop that made the whole class turn around. Amazing how much difference an hour of sleep could make."Yeah- I uh, stayed up watching the news."

To his surprise, Dick's lie had quite a lot of truth to it, as the class exploded into discussion. He knew Batman and Robin got on the news often, but he hadn't ever heard it discussed like this.

"I saw Robin talking to Vicki Vale."

"Do you think Robin Is Batman's son, or is he like a little brother, or a friend?"

"No way someone like Batman has a brother or a son."

"Are you sure Batman's human?"

"Did you see what they did at GCPD!"

"Yeah, but that stuff from the club- did you see all those guys they killed? That was wicked!"

"Dude, Batman doesn't kill."

"Robin's gotta be our age, right?"

"He's kinda cute."

Dick wanted to contribute, and the fame sure was enjoyable, even if they didn't know it was him, but he was just so tired. Everyone was clearly having fun though, and the teacher seemed to have given up hope of controlling the students. Eventually, though, he couldn't resist.

"Guys," he said in a loud voice, one Haly taught him at the circus, one that could always grab everyone's attention, "How long do you think it'll take for Robin to die?"

"What?"

"Y-yeah, what the hell?"

"I mean," continued Dick, "He's just a little kid right? And Gotham's a rough town."

"Oh, come on, you aren't even from here!"

"Batman hasn't died after like almost three years of doing crazy stuff, why would Robin?"

Dick defended himself, "Well, Batman's a grown man- if he's even human- but Robin's just a little kid, what can he do?"

"Little kid? He's probably older than us- look at all his muscles!"

Dick looked at his shirt to make sure it hid his physique.

"He's smaller, that just means he's harder to shoot."

"Yeah!"

"But it also means that if he's hit once, he's dead. It's not like you need to aim if you have a machine gun."

Dick was enjoying the discussion, though he wasn't sure how he would if he had ever actually been shot. The closest there was was that time in the graveyard, as far as he knew. What a nice memory. But this one might be fonder, all the class talking about him.

Except for one, Dick noticed. While not everyone was talking in the big group in the back middle, pretty much everyone was talking. Except for this one girl, sitting in the corner closest to the teacher's desk. She was pretty to Dick (but he'd never say that, of course,) with a round face and brown hair in twin french braids. Her eyes were blue, and could be nice, if they weren't glaring angrily at everyone. Dick had always found her pretty, but never had the nerve to talk to her.

He got up, trying to remember names. As he slipped out of the circle of students unnoticed, he remembered.

"Hey, you're Bethany, right? Or, just Beth."

She looked shocked that he came over here, and for a second her nostrils flared, then she put on a calmer expression. "Just Beth. And you're Dick Grayson, right? Popular new kid."

"I mean, I guess," he shrugged, deciding to show humility around her hostility, "better than 'the circus kid'," he put his hands in his pockets, "But you know, you're pretty popular yourself. And pretty rich- I mean, everyone here is, but.." Dick chose his words carefully, but was less worried about Beth's feelings than their effect on how much his curiosity would be satisfied, "Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she maintained, "I just don't wanna talk."

Dick was saved by the bell- or rather, saved by the alarm.

"Students," came the secretary's voice, in a tone foreign to the one common in morning announcements, "there have been several terroristic threats across the city, and the principal has decided to have all of you moved into the old gym building. Stay safe and do NOT step off the sidewalk. Your parents have been notified. Stay safe."

As the announcement went on, murmurs slowly grew. When the loudspeaker went _bzt_ , indicating the end of said announcement, the class erupted.

"Quiet! QUIET!" yelled Mrs. Flynn, finally deciding the situation dire enough to warrant uncharacteristic exclamation. The class returned to all but silence, and soon the hushed whispers stopped. "We're going, line up outside."

As they left the door, she counted off every student. None were absent, thank God. She then got in front of all of them and walked diagonally across the corner of the hallways, then down it until she reached the stairs, and descended down them, several other classes alongside them.

On floor one, they went to their right, passing the elevator and the empty administrative office to exit out a side door, now tightly packed together to avoid being lost in the huge number of students. Once outside, the volume increased as students wondered amongst themselves what the terrorist threats where, who had issued them, and who the targets were. All they knew was that this was stressful- usually, new things, especially ones that just took away from Class time, were fun. But these kids were Gothamites, and they knew real danger. They were afraid.

"I bet it's the guy who broke out of jail last night," Dick heard several students say or agree with. They were right, he was sure, but at this point he didn't see what difference it made.

The students were soon all corralled into the old gym building, a brown brick square that had equally drab and angular insides, and was mostly used by underclassmen and JV teams, but it was also used in emergency drills because it was very sturdy, retrofitted into a fallout shelter in the early 1950's.

Inside the gym, there were the old red bleachers, where the students had the option to sit on. Dick lied down and took a much-needed rest.

He blurrily saw, in occasional bits of awakeness, the students gather around the wide gym, and eventually get rowdy over lack of things to do. Eventually, the tall carts with TVs strapped on top of them were wheeled in and put up against the bleachers. Dick didn't really register this until Kevin shook him awake.

"Hey, dude," said Kev, "They're showing the news footage, wanna see it?"

The four TVs were in the corners of the gym, and alternated between stations covering the current panic- except for one, which had a recording of the Gotham Gazette's news from last night outside the Perigrinator Club, moments before Robin got on. The kids who looked panic seemed to calm at the sight of the now infamous news report.

Vicki Vale was speaking, "Just now, the police have breached the club, and we're getting reports that there are several casualties- now, remember, listeners, casualties just means people injured to the point of needing assistance until their recovery, NOT people who have died," the camera panned out to show the whole club, it's smashed in windows, and the flickering purple lights.

It became a boring report about numbers and expenses- one no kid, even Dick, was too interested in.

That was, until the people started coming out, and, amid the frenzy of reporters asking the traumatized victims (assuming none were actual mobsters), a boy, clad in red, green and yellow, rushed out to jump on top of a police car to give his statement.

"Greetings Gotham! Please, don't bother these people, they've been through a lot!"

Cameras clicked and lights flashed, and the question in everyone's lips was 'who are you?'

"I'm Robin- Batman's new sidekick, and the Boy Wonder! I'm here to promise you- the city of Gotham, uh City! Will be safe with us! The Dynamic Duo is here to help- so don't let any, any terrorists or criminals put fear in you-" he pointed right at the camera, "because we're gonna stop you. No more scare tactics! We're sick of it, and of you, so give up!" he pointed right at the camera, "Because you will lose. Any questions?"

Before Vicki could recompose herself enough to try and interview the boy, Batman- Batman!- stepped out of the shadows. "Robin," he growled, "We're leaving."

The kids in the gym gasped right alongside the reporters in the recording, who asked many variations of "Batman! What do you have to say about _ ?"

Dick watched himself backflip off the car, walk alongside Batman, and climb into the batmobile, speeding off.

His blood heated as he watched himself. Over the heads of his classmates, huddled around the TV, Dick saw his performance while standing on the bleachers. _Oh, God, what?! How could I do that? How could I act so... so... goofy? That was so dumb. My costume- my voice! It's not the circus out there!_ He became increasingly self-conscious as footage kept rolling, his face going redder every time a new blurry photo of 'Robin' showed up. _Ah, jeez._

The only other person, he noticed, who wasn't around the TVs or talking to some other group of friends was Bethany, it seemed. The boy's mind went astray. What motivated that? Why was she so antisocial? Why did it matter-.

The teachers rewound the tapes so the students could watch it again. Dick rewound his mind, getting it back into gear, fixing his anxiety like a computer- no, a detective.

 _Step one- ask questions. Who, What, When, Why, How. For everything or for the tiniest details (whoa- was religion just really large scale detective work? Jesus_ was _a convicted- wait, mom wouldn't like me thinking about that)._

 _Step one A- determine what your scale was. Looks like I'm making my own rules. The Dick Grayson Scale of Detective Work. My scale for this mission is citywide- who threatened us? Why? Do they have anything to do with Mad Hatter?_

Dick paused when he realized he was just doing normal Step One, but soon returned to thinking, begrudgingly accepting that he could do little more- until he came up with what could hardly be considered deductive reasoning to his problem, but still a solution.

What Dick decided he needed was a phone- one he could contact Bruce on. Rubber soles squeaking on the floor in the gym's cacophony until he got to the hallway. Not a single person was watching him- but they were still all their, and all wanting phones.

Dick mentally chided himself- of course the other kids would all want phones, and, worse, the teachers were listening in to what they said. They were trying to hide it, to look away, but their ears perked and their eyes would dart at the blocky phones. A few shot glances at Dick.

If he was following orders, he'd be fine with this minor obstacle, but, alone, with no one to control him, he felt mad. Mad that all these people were here, mad that he couldn't just talk to Bruce in this stressful time, and mad that these dumb kids didn't even seem to notice how they were being watched.

Dick swallowed that, for all the reasons that he should have. _This is why I'm a sidekick,_ he thought without any disdain. He didn't love the way he was, but he by no means hated himself. He just was, and that was okay, right?

 _No way to get those phones- but that's only 3 athletic offices. There are others down the hall, right? There's the pools and the weight room and the tennis courts and then the building's main office- wait is that down this hall..._ he shook his head, ignoring distractions, _either way, all I have to do is just.. walk.. past. There's a bathroom right there at the hall.. if I get out using the other exit, I could sneak and get to a phone before anyone notices.._

His messy thought process brought him to a sound conclusion- but there were still distractions.

 _How do I know there won't be people on the other side?_

 _What if the doors aren't a type of lock I can pick?_

 _How long before I'm reported_ missing.

In his obsession with the fine details of his plan, Dick realized he was pacing in the hall, and was beginning to finally gather attention.

"Heh- I'm just nervous, that's all.." he said, walking past the school security officer to get into the bathroom, which thankfully lacked a line.

Not thankfully was the fact that it was crowded- several boys were using the bathroom, and still others were just sitting, on the sink counters, by the gym lockers, anywhere, talking. This place seemed to be a hideaway.

Dick took a deep breath- _if I could have made up my mind, I would've come here sooner and not been in this mess.._

 _But still, I got myself in here, and I'll get myself out._ He looked around at the familiar faces. He was still a new kid here, with a reputation he had to build.

 _The mission comes first_.

Dick walked out of the bathroom and asked the security guard a question he hoped nobody knew he asked- "How many kids are supposed to be in there?"

"What?"

"Don't they have, like, rules about how many kids go to the bathroom at once in a lockdown? Because there are a ton of kids there."

"Oh sh- shoooot, what?" He pulled out his walkie talkie, "Hey Larry, you on the other end?"

A muffled response came.

"Okay, we're gonna have to check in on the boys-"

Another muffled response.

"Alright, Come in on your end-" the officer stepped past Dick and into the bathroom.

"Okay kids, we don't need a party going on in here-" said the guard to the surprised students as the other guard rounded the corner. They said more as they rounded the kids up, but Dick tuned them out- no more wishy-washy-ness. Without thinking and without trying, he slipped past stalls and lockers and showers and sinks and halls, until finally he walked out of the old locker room and into the hallway, totally alone.

Home free! Now all there was left was to go and get the phone. Dick ran quietly looking inside office windows to see phones that looked old enough to not have recording hardware. He found one soon- the Triathlete coach, Mr. Brown.

Next were the lockpicks, cleverly hidden, among other trinkets, in the sole of his shoe. He slipped it off, took what he needed, and put it back down effortlessly.

 **screeeeech**

Dick stopped dead- the rubber of his shoe squeaked against the floor. Not good.

He looked all around, but there was no one there- he hoped.

Recollecting his nerve, Dick put in the lockpick and the pin to hold it into place, clicking each cylinder into place.

Three.

Two.

One.

Click

Dick breathed. He was in, once again-

Dick held his breath again as someone grabbed his shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing here, kid?"

Dick's wide eyed face turned to see a tall man in a guard's uniform with a black goatee. He panicked- but just for a second

"You had me worried there," exhaled the boy, "Bruce."

The man smiled, shaking his head. "What are you doing here, Dick?"

"Trying to talk to you! On the phone, that is."

Bruce started walking. Dick followed. "So what were you going to say, chum?" he said in a slightly condemning manner.

"Nothing, nothing Bruce-"

"Officer"

"Officer. Just that your fake goatee looks dumb."

"I can report you to the school, you know, Dick."

"With what, your fake guard pass?"

"Where in the middle of a terrorist emergency, now is not the time for jokes."

"Yeah, I know- I was just checking in, seeing if you knew anything at all, and if I could- you know- help."

They turned the corner to the hallway filled with kids in line, "I'm doing fine, Dick. I have the suit in the back and am going to patrol the surrounding blocks in a minute. I came here to make sure you were safe- and didn't do anything dumb."

"What would I do?"

"Sneak out, mostly. I didn't want the school's staff to have to look for you. Which is why I didn't call."

A teacher came up to Bruce, asking "Where did you find this student?"

"A bathroom door broke, he ran out for help," lied Bruce through his teeth, "It was just a screw- popped right back in. No worries."

She nodded, walking off.

"So, Bruce- my job is just to sit here."

"Exactly."

"And that's _all_ of why you're here?"

Bruce shook his head, "How could you tell?" he questioned, looking off, "This is the most prestigious private school in the city. How many mob bosses do you think have family who go here? How many of them donate to this place?"

Dick paused to think, "And you're okay with me going here?"

"I went here, Dick. Besides, I make sure to beat every mobster in donations every year."

Dick nodded.

"Anything else, before I go?" The man turned to Dick.

"Yeah, actually- that girl, over there-" he pointed to the bleachers- "Beth. Do you know anything about her? Why she acts so... weird, whenever we talk about Batman and Robin?"

Bruce stared at her for a second. "Yes, I do," he said, looking back to Dick, "She's one of the ones I was talking about. That's Bethany Thorne, and her uncle, and the sole reason she can afford tuition to this school, is Rupert Thorne."


End file.
